Perspective
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: A look at Jenny wrens' "Adjustments", Chapter 13-33, from a couple of other points of view. Written with permission from Jenny wrens to assist in expanding aspects of her fanfic universe for NCIS.
1. Chapter 1

**Perspective**

**XX**

* * *

**A/N: I wrote this story to expand on several OC characters who are at least present in the NCIS universe that Jenny wrens is writing, including Melissa Wallace, Makayla's older sister, as well as the scene set at Xavier Preparatory School in "Adjustments", Chapter 13. I asked for and received permission from Jenny wrens to do so, but actual "canon" status of any of this within her fanfic universe for NCIS depends on her approval or disapproval.**

**Having said that, have a look and enjoy. Feel free to tell me what you think in a review and/or PM.**

**XX**

* * *

The Headmaster of Xavier Preparatory School looked up expectantly as the Head Girl, Cassandra Marshall, was admitted to his office by Mrs. McCandless, his secretary. Cassandra looked displeased about something, meaning that her generally-solemn expression looked decidedly more sour than usual.

"Thank you, Mrs. McCandless," the Headmaster said politely. Once the door was closed, he greeted the senior female student. "Miss Marshall, good afternoon. Please, be seated."

"Good afternoon, sir. Thank you, sir." Cassandra sat down and paused only a moment before going ahead: "I wanted to talk to you about Makayla Wallace, sir."

"Yes?"

"Sir, I don't understand why she still attends this school."

"One of the benefits of holding this office is that I am empowered to handle certain matters as I see fit. The Headmaster's discretion can be enough to settle something that otherwise might be quite complex and time-consuming."

Cassandra frowned. She was a strikingly beautiful girl, a gifted scholar and athlete, respected by many but loved (or even liked) by few. Cassandra Marshall was brusque, often intimidating, interested in very little besides athletics, political and military matters, and her overriding, all-consuming goal to meticulously emulate her father's career in the U.S. Marines. She also was intolerant of anyone she felt had no place at Xavier and was always the strongest voice on the Honor Council. Her will was rarely challenged and her opinions were rarely questioned.

"Sir, with respect, letting that- that girl back in was a mistake."

"Go on."

"She cheated, sir. She blatantly violated the Honor Code, which specifically forbids cheating in any form. And that's on top of her attendance record, which is so awful that-"

The Headmaster held up a hand. "I am aware of all that, Ms. Marshall. And I, too, share your concerns."

"Then what's she doing in school uniform?" Cassandra demanded with her characteristic bluntness. "She was given her chance here already. She failed."

"I met with Ms. Wallace and talked it over with her. I made the decision that allowing her to finish out the current academic year would be best for all involved."

"Sir, I have to disagree with you. Allowing that girl to stay here after what she's done will send the message that we aren't serious about the Honor Code, or about attendance. Is that what we want at Xavier? Girls who cheat and run away every time a hat drops?"

"You make your case as delicately as ever, Miss Marshall."

"Well, what about it, sir? If I did anything else I'd just be wasting time. _Esse quam videri_, sir. We need to be an honorable school, and not just seem it. We don't want the kind of example we'll set if we let Makayla Wallace's readmission stick."

"Have you spoken to her sister about this?"

"Melissa, like me, doesn't have time for this kind of childish nonsense, sir. She's busy looking toward the future."

"And dating your brother on and off."

That was a cheap shot, but it hit home. The stern Cassandra Marshall blushed crimson and stumbled as she searched for a reply.

"I, um, I didn't know you knew about that. Sir."

"What I understand is that Josh Marshall, Junior got a _lot_ more interested in Xavier after he met Melissa Wallace."

"Sir, well, he's gotta date _some_body." She blanched. "What I mean is, he likes her."

"Well, obviously."

Cassandra took a moment to compose herself. "Sir, I have to tell you, I'm concerned about what this school does about Makayla. I have to tell you how much it matters that we make the right choice."

"So you have. And I appreciate your counsel."

"Are you really going to let her stay here?"

"For now, yes, I do."

"But sir-"

"You are Head Girl, but I am the Headmaster. You know all about holding a higher rank, so trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Cassandra looked annoyed, and it showed, but the Headmaster didn't comment.

"I understand, sir," Cassandra said.

"Excellent. Was there anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Then I wish you the best of luck as you finish out this semester. Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, sir."

**XX**

"Hey, JOSH! Heads up!"

Josh Marshall, Junior spun around and caught the football deftly with one hand, surprising Cameron Ward, the sophomore who'd thrown it.

"You had, like, a second when I said that! How'd you even react that fast?" Cameron asked.

"Good reflexes," Josh answered. He thought about throwing the football back, but decided against it. Instead, he motioned with the football towards the double doors. "C'mon, I was gonna go throw a frisbee or a football around for a bit anyway."

"Sure," Cameron said, trying to hide his eagerness and not doing a great job of it. He was from the "right" kind of family by Xavier Prep standards- his grandfather was founder of the Ward Law Firm and his mother led the school PTA when she wasn't managing a chain of banks- but he was a bit shy and so had taken to sucking up to the more popular boys to get ahead. Though they were nearing the end of their final semester on exchange from Remington Military Academy up in Rhode Island, Josh and his twin brother Chris were at the center of Xavier Prep's "in crowd". Easily the biggest topic of school gossip was trying to figure out who would take over for the twins once they left.

Nobody bumped into Josh while he was stopped in the center of the hallway, even though he was close to the front doors. The crowd parted around him and his hangers-on. As usual, guys greeted him with respect, girls with a little more than just respect, and even the Dean, Dr. Lyman, only gave him a slight reprimand for throwing a football in the hallway.

"Chris, you know that isn't done at Xavier."

"Aw, c'mon, Dr. Lyman. I'm Josh, anyway. Honestly, you call yourself Dean of Students of the best prep school in D.C. and you can't tell me and my brother apart?"

"My brother and _I_," Dr. Lyman corrected him, but he was smiling. "'My brother and I' is the correct phrase, Mr. Marshall. And the policy is the same regardless. No throwing footballs in the hallways."

"Can I just _toss_ it, not throw it?"

"Semantics, Mr. Marshall, and no."

"Can I just kick it like a regular football? Rest of the world does that."

"No, Mr. Marshall."

"Aw, Dr. Lyman, just this one time?"

"Is it _ever_ 'that one time' with me?"

Josh grinned. "Uh, no. No, Dr. Lyman."

"Then you have your answer."

Josh motioned with his head to "The Boys," as Xavier's highest-ranked boys were called. "All right, boys, we're goin' outside." As a gaggle of 8th graders made it past, looking moderately less tiny and terrified than they had in September, Josh turned to Dr. Lyman.

"Only joking. I am Josh, actually!"

Then he threw Dr. Lyman the football and bolted out the door.

**XX**

Josh hurried out onto The Yard, the expansive and elegant front lawn of the school, pausing to button down his navy blue school blazer and winter coat, both bearing the Xavier Prep school crest on the left breast. The necktie was still a bit too tight, so Josh loosened it as he looked around for his brother Chris.

_There you are. Lipstick all over your neck again, too. No wonder you're late._

The red-haired teenager raised his voice to a shout. "Chris! Get over here! Come on!"

Cameron Ward came outside carrying the football and ran up to make the first throw. Josh caught it, sent it over to the banker's son named Harry Potter. The blond seventeen year old, who bore a much closer resemblance to Draco Malfoy, caught the ball with ease and then threw it to Chris as he joined the group.

"You and Chris gonna commit to The Citadel?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. That's the plan."

"You two could go to anywhere in the Ivy League. Why don't you join my older brother at Princeton? He could help show you around; he'll be a junior by the time you start college as a freshman."

"Nah, man," Chris said. "We're Citadel all the way."

"I was thinking Cornell, or Harvard," Harry said. "My old man went to both of 'em, so I'm legacy either way. Not like I'd have a hard time getting in there when I go here, but you get me."

"Family tradition's a great thing," Chris agreed. It was, after all, a major part of why Josh and Chris had always intended to go to the Military College of South Carolina.

"Yeah, unless you don't have one that matters. Sucks for those people. Ha!"

"Hey, Harry!" Chris called. He threw the football as hard as he could, and Harry barely caught the ball before it hit him.

"Jeez! You tryin' to kill me?" Harry said, but he was laughing. "Hey, who wants me to get one of those 8th grade kids over there? Pow, right to the back of the head. I'm the big hero, right? I'm Harry-fucking-Potter! I can't _possibly _have done anything like that! I'm the _good guy_!"

"Harry, just throw it to Trevor already," Chris said.

"Sure, all right," Harry replied. "I'm just saying I _could_. It's an option."

After catching the ball, Trevor Bedford, IV, the arrogant cross country runner who was dead-set on joining Chris and Josh at The Citadel when they all started college in the fall of 2007, stopped dead to gape at the old pickup truck that had stopped at the curb, looking decidedly out-of-place on the grounds of a school where Cadillacs were a dime a dozen, Range Rovers and Benzes were normal, and even a Bentley or Rolls-Royce wasn't unheard of.

"Oh, my God," Trevor said, almost in an awed whisper. "What the fuck _is _that? Jesus! Is it left over from World-War-fucking-_Two_?"

"Man, who in hell _cares_?" Harry said. "C'mon, Trevor, throw!"

"No, no, wait. Wait a second." Trevor never took his eyes off the truck. "Seriously, what the fuck _is _that thing? You ever _see _such an ancient piece of shit?" He laughed, then threw the ball to Harry. "Hey, man, how much you wanna bet that's some farmboy from Kansas or some shit, out here to see a _real_ school for once?"

"You people better clean it up," Chris warned. "Language like that's conduct unbecoming of a Xavier man."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Prefect, sir," George said.

"Well, technically I'm still a boy," Trevor retorted, "so fuck that motherfuckin' rustbucket, and fuck you, Chris T. Marshall."

"Watch it," Josh said sternly. He had no patience for anyone who disrespected his brother, even under the guise of a joke.

Trevor raised his hands carefully. "Hey, no offense meant, boys." He rubbed his hands together and swore again. "Fuck, it's cold. Let's go burn that stupid truck and we can be fucking warm, at least."

George Brandon, III laughed as he joined the group. "Trevor still got a dirty mouth?"

"Jeez, ya just noticed?"

"Get me a Fifties paper, George, 'cause that's old news."

The dark-haired youth nodded to the truck. "That… _thing_ is gonna be the _talk of the school_ for _weeks_. Good _God_, does that dude even _know_? Does he know this isn't John Q. Smith High School, located in Nowhere-That-Matters, West Virginia?"

"_Nowhere_ in West Virginia matters," George sniggered.

"Exactly! So he should pack his ass back up and _go back there_!"

The entire group cracked up at that one, and even Josh and Chris, who were widely accepted among old money but knew their father came from nothing, had to laugh.

_I wonder if Dad ever owned anything like that, _Josh wondered_. He never tells me anything about how he lived as a kid. He never tells anybody about it. And here I am. I got everything. Rich kids think I'm one of 'em and I never had to worry about food or where I was gonna sleep or anything. Just regular kid stuff. Maybe that guy in that truck just wasn't as lucky as my family. We don't all grow up with the level of privilege Mom and Dad have made sure their kids get._

All that thinking was enough to sober Josh, but no one noticed his change in mood, because George was just telling everybody he sent his girlfriend, Alicia Bradley, over to see what "that goddamn disgrace of a truck" was about. Everyone in the circle paused, the football momentarily forgotten.

"Hey, hey, wait, wait, wait," Trevor said suddenly. "New details. He's getting out, walking toward the front doors. Look, it's the Runaway. Makayla Wallace _knows_ that guy in the truck."

George pulled out his phone and hurriedly sent a text message. "Okay, I told Alicia to wait. She's gonna ask Makayla who that guy is." He glanced over. "Blue oval on the front."

"Yeah, it's a Ford," Josh said. "Old one. Otherwise, no idea."

A minute or two passed by. The Boys and their female counterparts steadily gathered as additional members showed up. Everyone was staring but doing an expert job of not looking like it, and nearby, Josh saw Cassandra rolling her eyes. Uh-oh. Cass, or Cassie as her siblings, closest friends, and boyfriends called her, held rich-kid politics and prep school gossip in great contempt, and she had never approved of Josh and Chris getting involved in it. Oh, boy. Well, they were too far in now.

Finally, the truck pulled away from the curb and Mr. Ward's personal Bentley Arnage stopped where it had been, with the Ward family driver at the wheel.

"There they go," Trevor said, looking after the pickup truck. "One the one hand, I wanna know who the hell that guy is. On the other hand, I don't if it means I gotta see more of that fuckin' eyesore."

"Hey, guys, I gotta go. See you later," Cameron said. "Don't worry about the football. I'll just have Mr. Travis buy me another one."

A chorus of "Cool," "See ya, man," and "Later," answered him. Josh saw Cameron smiling to himself as he turned away. The kid had been trying so hard to get in with The Boys, and it looked like he was gonna make it.

Alicia Bradley showed up just then, accompanied by one of her newest friends, Madeline Davis. "I got the latest scoop, guys," she said, sounding thoroughly pleased with herself. "I got news about the Runaway."

A flurry of voices answered her as everybody in "The Boys," and their corresponding clique "The Girls" demanded to know everything. Josh and Chris simply waited, knowing they'd hear the answer to most of these questions regardless. Alicia grinned, savoring the moment, and then spoke up as the voices died down.

"I dunno who the guy_ is_, but he said he's from Princeton."

The two cliques exploded into laughter, and Trevor and George in particular were laughing so hard they could barely stand up.

"Princeton!" Trevor wheezed. "Oh, my _God_! _Princeton_?"

"No way! No _friggin'_ way!" George added between gasps.

"I bet his lying his ass off," Harry laughed. "Thomas would know if some chump went to Princeton with a truck like that. _That_ thing? Jeez!"

Josh and Chris laughed along, mostly for appearances, but they both were getting worried about Cassandra, who was openly glaring at them now.

"He also said he's her boyfriend," Alicia added.

"Huh," Harry said. "Now, _that_ is interesting. Hey, maybe she's been running off to see _him_, huh?"

Trevor shrugged. "Running off to New Jersey? We're in Northern Virginia. _I_ can't even run that fast."

"Hey, just my theory."

"Wait- if he's going to Princeton, let's just say if, he's at least 18, right? Makayla Wallace sure isn't." Alicia paused for a moment, thinking. "This dude could get in some serious trouble if he's as old as he's saying."

Harry turned to Josh. "Wait, wait- Josh, didn't you say Melissa Wallace told you that her mom told Makayla that she's seriously grounded or something?"

"Harry, I don't go asking my girlfriend about her kid sister all day. I really don't."

"Oh, come on!" Harry insisted. "All the trouble Makayla's been getting into, Melissa's gotta have said something to you. Wouldn't you like to make a phone call and get the Runaway into some shit right now? All you gotta do is talk to Melissa and confirm something for us."

"Maybe what me and my girl talk about is none of your business, Harry," Josh answered, cool but polite. "Maybe I have better things to do than pester her about her kid sister. Did you ever think of that?"

"I just wanna know who that dude really is," George said. "I shoulda figured we wouldn't get anywhere right off the bat. Alicia just tested him. We'll need to find out more if we ever see him again."

"Maybe he's military," Chris remarked. "He sure looked like it. I know military when I see it."

"He could be," Josh agreed. "I swear he looked like he was our age, though… Anyway, maybe that's his grampa's truck or something."

"You should see my car's dash cam," Trevor boasted. "It's hidden so it's basically not even there. My uncle works with the State Police. He can find out who owns that truck, because I know I'll be able to get him the license plate."

"You mean none of us got that down while we were staring at that relic?" David Abeley said in disbelief.

"Nah, man, I was trying not to go blind," George said. "It doesn't matter. We ever see that jerkoff again we'll know who he is. Nobody hides from The Boys."

"Including _little_ boys," Josh sniggered. George blushed and said something extremely rude, but it was lost amidst gales of laughter. Several people's rides started showing up just then, though, and the other day students began migrating towards their cars. Trevor went to his three-year-old SL-600 and was checking something right as he got behind the wheel.

That left Chris and Josh to face Cassandra, who was coming over with Brittany in tow. Cassandra was a beautiful girl, but she could be a terrifying older sister, and right now she looked thoroughly pissed. She checked to ensure they were alone, and then started.

"That girl isn't that important! Makayla Wallace isn't worth you two getting wrapped up in stupid school gossip! Laughing and swearing like a bunch of children! You two are better than that and that isn't how Mom and Dad raised you!"

Josh raised his hands defensively. "Cass, we ju-"

"Boy, have you _lost your mind_?" Cassandra barked at him. "Because I'll help you find it!"

"C'mon, Cass, we're sorry!" Chris protested. "We have to keep up appearances! The Boys and The Girls took us in, and they're the big cliques at this school, and we have to-"

"You don't owe _anything_ to a couple of stupid cliques!" Cassandra interrupted, shaking a knife hand at the twins. "You two, follow me. _Right now_.

"Okay," Chris agreed, shouldering his bag.

"You got it," Josh said, eager to please. If Cassandra was in a really bad mood, she might tell Mom and Dad, and if Dad got on the warpath that meant a fate worse than death. You never, ever embarrassed the House of Marshall. Neither Mom nor Dad had any tolerance for any behavior that reflected poorly on the family, or on the Marine Corps.

Boarding students who maintained a GPA of 3.3 or above and had written permission from their parent or guardian could keep a vehicle in the designated student parking lot. Cassandra's was instantly recognizable; a gold 1958 Plymouth Belvedere sedan, featuring the powerful Golden Commando V8. Loitering near it were two people the twins knew well; Lukas Shepard, son of a Bundesmarine rear admiral, and Melissa Wallace. The former was the camera-shy and romantic athlete for whom Cassandra reserved most of her charm and good humor. The latter was Cassandra's roommate and best friend.

"Hey, Cass," Melissa called out. "What took you so long?"

"I was beginning to wonder," Lukas added.

"Blame the twins," Cassandra replied. "My idiot brothers got dragged into some bullshit school gossip session over that old truck that parked in front of the school today."

"Oh, whose was that, anyway?" Melissa asked. "I heard about that."

"Someone your sister knows," Lukas said with a shrug. "She left school with him."

"She's grounded," Melissa said. "She'll be sorry she went on a date with some guy. Mom's not gonna just let that go."

"Babe, when am I gonna go and meet your parents?" Josh asked, greeting Melissa with a hug and a kiss. "Your dad sounds like a really nice guy, and your mom- honestly, she sounds like my Dad."

"And our Mom," Chris said with a laugh. "You can't _ever_ tell those two no!"

"You better not," Cassandra said firmly, "or you'll answer to me."

"Yes, Cass," Josh said, and he and Chris hung their heads.

"Josh, I did ask about having you over for dinner. My parents said now's not the best time," Melissa answered.

"Is everything okay?" Josh asked. He'd grown quite fond of Melissa in the six months they'd been dating, and instinctively worried she might have problems at home, or that her parents might not approve. What they thought of him mattered quite a lot.

"Well, it's complicated." Melissa sighed. "Makayla… she's got a lot going on. She wants to quit going here and go to this big art school, or something. Whenever she and Mom talk, they fight. It's driving Mom crazy. Dad's been trying to stay out of it but you can't exactly do that in a warzone."

Josh looked at his sister. "Cass, can Missy and I go talk?"

"Fine," Cassandra said. "Ten minutes. Then I'm taking everybody to dinner. We're doing a group call home, too."

"Hey, my parents can at least hear your voice," Josh said, perking up.

Lukas took Cassandra's hand. "I would like to speak to you, briefly," he said.

Cassandra gave his hand a slight squeeze, smiled at him. Her stern features softened, and she nodded to her brother. "Twelve minutes."

"Keep the making out brief," Brittany called after them, and the two couples each turned a fascinating shade of scarlet before fleeing in separate directions.

**XX**

Once they were alone under one of the massive, ancient oak trees bordering the parking lot, Josh turned to Melissa and took both her hands in his. Her green eyes were like emeralds; her red hair was like a ruby; her overall beauty outshined the stars.

"Missy," Josh said, "I wish I could do something about your sister."

"I doubt you could help. She's always had a hard time here. Mak will never admit to it, but a lot of that's her fault."

"Nobody here really likes her anyway," Josh remarked. He realized how that sounded and quickly added, "Not that it's right, just how it is. She's never liked it here so, um, well, I guess that made it really hard to make any friends."

Josh didn't know much about that last part. Growing up military had forced him to move and start his social life over again so many times, Josh had learned to be confident and outgoing from an early age. He and Chris had always been popular, surrounded by friends and admirers.

Come to think of it, so had Melissa. Driven, motivated, focused, academically and athletically talented… it had drawn Josh to her right from the day they'd met two years ago. After a year and a half, he'd finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. Now, their six-month anniversary was coming up and life could not have been going better.

Melissa slapped him playfully. "You hear that?"

"What?"

"I said, your sister wants Makayla kicked out of Xavier. She's not subtle about it, either. She's never subtle."

"Cass thinks a plan is taking the biggest hammer she can find and smashing whatever's in her way. She's direct. She doesn't know how to be anything else."

"She sounds like your dad."

"She wants to _be_ my Dad," Josh said. "I've got his name but she's his protégé. She'll make four stars in the Marines if it kills her."

_Personally, I might make captain. I doubt I'll ever be what Dad wants. If I can just make it through to become a Marine fighter pilot along with Chris, that'll be enough. I'm just not gonna worry about rank._

"I think she can do it."

"Me, too. I just hope I can be there to see it."

"And why wouldn't you?"

_Death, Missie, because death. I've got the Marine Corps in my blood and there's a war going on. What are you doing with me? If you stick with me, do you realize what you could be setting yourself up for?_

"What about you, Miss?" Josh asked. He nuzzled his nose against hers. "What do you wanna be?"

"Somebody who spends less time on drama than my sister," Melissa said with a laugh.

"I was being serious," Josh protested mildly.

"So was I!"

"Babe…"

"Josh, I wanna see this shaggy haircut back in the summer," Melissa said. "No offense but I like it better than a buzz-cut or a high-and-tight."

"I gotta transfer back to RMA," Josh said. "I'll start growing it out as soon as the spring semester ends. I promise I'll call, and I'll write. And I'll come to visit you as often as I can. I'll get somebody to record all your soccer games and I'll watch 'em."

_The big star scholar, the athlete,_ Josh thought with wonder. _How'd an average guy like me wind up with somebody like you? I'm just a normal guy who goes to the gym too much and has a big-shot last name._

"I'll talk to Mom and Dad," Melissa promised. "We'll have you over for dinner sometime soon. I'll try to make it happen during Christmas break."

"You think Makayla's gonna get in the way?" Josh asked, none too pleased at the idea. He'd never met this girl and all she seemed to _do_ was get in the way.

Josh had nothing at all against Makayla personally, but he had little patience for a kid sister whose only role in his life seemed to be as an annoyance. Here he was getting into his first really serious relationship and all Makayla seemed to be good for was messing things up. The constant fighting with her parents created a hostile atmosphere at home. Not much time or energy for meeting the boyfriend when your house was an armed camp. And as much as Melissa tried to distance herself, it took a toll on her, too.

"She might," Melissa allowed. "But Mom and Dad will find a time to meet you."

"Well, we have seen each other's faces."

Melissa laughed. "Yeah. I think the plan was to _actually_ meet them, right?"

"The wonders of dating at boarding school."

"Just be ready to set aside the time. I'll talk to my parents."

"I can drive up from South Carolina if I have to," Josh said. "Or, wait, maybe I'll just fly. I dunno." He paused. "Missie, no offense, but your sister's causing too much drama. It's upsetting your mom, your dad, and it's upsetting _you_. You're all working so hard to be the biggest success that you can be. It's amazing. It inspires me. And Makayla- she thinks she can mess with your guys' future because she wants to draw _pictures_?"

It occurred to Josh, distantly, that he had never seen a single thing Makayla Wallace had drawn, painted, any work of art that she'd done at all. For that matter, neither had Melissa. Neither of them cared about art too much. Josh thought largely in terms of fitness and grades, the big career plan, and having fun when he could. So did Melissa. Their mutual love for athletics was what had brought them together.

"Josh, I wish Mak wasn't like this, but she is. She just keeps starting fights. We're just gonna have to put up with it until she figures things out." By her tone, Melissa thought the whole thing a waste of time. Josh absolutely agreed.

"All right. Let me know when I can come by and I'll wear all Brooks Brothers for dinner." Josh smiled proudly. "Mom took me and Chris to get hand-tailored suits last time we went home."

"I can't wait to see it. And maybe the wait's not so bad," Melissa said. "I need to get the best GPA I can. Of course, if your sister beats me for valedictorian, maybe she'll get in her second smile for the whole year."

"It's an improvement. Used to be Cass only smiled once or twice a decade."

Melissa smiled and kissed Josh; he got that same butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling he always did at moments like this. It just never got old. Josh smiled. "I'll be on my best behavior when I meet your folks. I promise."

"Oh, I thought you were gonna join forces with Mak and start a riot." Melissa laughed, then sighed wearily. "I shouldn't have joked about that. I bet there'll be another one tonight. Mak is always starting things."

"Hey, Makayla has to fight her own battles," Josh said. "This thing is gonna work itself out one way or another. But, uh, I'm just your boyfriend, so, 'scuse me if I don't wanna step into that mess and get shot in the butt."

"I'd hate for that to happen," Melissa said. "You have such a cute butt."

Josh grinned. "I really do, don't I?"

"Don't get _too_ proud of it."

"Wouldn't dream of it, babe."

Cassandra started up the Belvedere just then, and Josh and Melissa both looked that way as she waved and honked the horn.

"She's my hero," Josh said suddenly. "Me and Chris, we'd follow her anywhere. So would Brittany. Cass loves us all so much. She just doesn't like admitting it."

"She does like me, right?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah. She dislikes most people because they never meet her standards. You're one of the only people she's ever said measures up."

"Oh, good. 'Melissa Wallace, She Measures Up.' 'Melissa Wallace, She's Good Enough,'" Melissa said, snickering. "Heck of a campaign slogan there."

Honk! Honk!

"Hey, you two! Knock it off, I can hear you from here!" Brittany called out. "It sounds like-" She proceeded to make a lot of slurping and squelching noises.

"Oh, Jeez," Josh said, sighing. "My little sister." He pecked Melissa on the cheek. "Ready to ride a true American classic to one of D.C.'s finest restaurants?"

"Ready as always," Melissa said, giving Josh a peck back.

**XX**

At dinner, Lukas was his usual quiet, reflective self. He rarely spoke but was thoughtful and unfailingly polite when he did. Cassandra adored him and rarely took her eyes off him. Josh and Chris were friendly and joking, as ever. Brittany was a bit intimidated in the presence of her big sister and brothers, but she had her moments, and she was as happy as any of them. Melissa talked a lot of school-related and athletic shop with Cassandra, but was plenty interested in talking to her roommate's siblings, especially since she was dating one of them.

Still all dressed in their school uniforms, they made for an impressive sight, plenty suited for the kind of high-society look and feel that permeated the restaurant.

"I tried talking to the Head today," Cassandra said finally, addressing Melissa. "He's letting your sister stay. Again. She runs off, she cheats, and he lets her stay." Cassandra sighed irritably. "What's the point? Why have an Honor Code or a disciplinary code or attendance rules if Makayla Wallace gets to ignore them all she wants?"

"It's his call," Melissa said. "Don't overthink it, Cass."

"Christ, you sound like the Head," Cassandra said, but she smiled. She shook her head. "Whatever. Mom's on the Board at Xavier, and she and Dad know all the other Governors personally. If I talked to Dad, I bet he could… I dunno. On the one hand, he could probably have her kicked out if he moved on it. On the other hand, he's probably gonna yell at me for wasting his time if I bring it up. Especially right now. Some big mess blew up down at Parris Island, and he's not happy about it."

The piano music being played live in the background changed as a new song started; Cassandra smiled. "Lukas, you wrote this one, didn't you?"

"I did," Lukas answered, nodding. "I suggested it to the owner, and he liked it after I played it for him."

"Lukas, you're amazing," Cassandra said.

"I do my best," Lukas replied. He smiled modestly, but it was obvious he was greatly pleased.

The conversation shifted to other topics after that as the Marshall children rehearsed their highlights of the day, week, and semester that would be reported when they spoke to their parents. They followed the chain of command strictly, so Cassandra largely dominated the conversation as they went over everything. Lukas said little but listened closely. Melissa promised to say hi as well.

Cassandra signaled to the waiter, paid the bill and added a generous tip, and then carefully removed the group from the restaurant. Entering a place, being there, leaving- you always had to be thinking about _how_ you did everything that you did, because being somebody meant the world was always watching. Cassandra handled such matters impeccably.

**XX**

As Josh entered the stairwell, he pulled out his phone and started to send Melissa a text message, then decided against it. She might get upset with him for bothering her during class.

_That girl is so mission-focused, the Marines would be a pretty good fit for her_, Josh thought. _Just so long as I can sti-_

Nothing attracts the human eye faster than sudden movement, and the 8th grade girl racing down the stairs towards him was moving like her life depended on it. Time seemed to slow, and Josh sidestepped, spun off-balance, slipped, and caught himself on a guard-rail. His phone flew clean out of his hands, landed several steps down, and the redhead stepped on it and kept right on going. The crunching sound was unmistakable.

Already on his feet, already reacting, Josh shouted after her.

"Hey! HEY! Stop!"

If the girl heard him, she gave no sign. She flew down the stairs even faster, if anything, and was gone, her footsteps echoing as she descended.

"Sonofabitch," Josh grumbled. He suddenly thought of something. "Pre- school Prefect!" Josh shouted. "Stop! That's an order from a Prefect!"

Nothing. The girl was just not coming back.

Josh sighed, went to retrieve the remains of his cell phone, and continued up the stairs.

New footsteps raced into the stairwell from above, and the lean, auburn-brown-haired Woodes Rogers, IV hurried down towards Josh.

"You saw her?" he asked. "That was Makayla Wallace!"

"Yeah, she ran right by, without-"

"Jeez," Woodes groaned, "not again. I told the Head this morning that I had a feeling Makayla Wallace was gonna run today. Not again. On days like this, I wish they'd never made me a Prefect."

"You and me both."

Woodes' brown eyes blazed with righteous anger and indignation. "This kind of stuff is an embarrassment to this school. I don't care what the reason is. She tarnishes everything that makes our school shine." He went to the nearest window. "Yep, she's leaving school grounds again."

The two seniors stood together and watched the 14-year-old flee.

"It's hard to believe she's Melissa Wallace's sister," Woodes said.

"I don't get it, either," Josh admitted with a shrug. "I just don't."

"_No one_ here does, I swear. Why is it that she has to run _every time_ I'm on duty patrolling the halls?"

"Well, how come _you_ didn't catch her? Your best 1-mile is a 5:10!"

"I had to get a note to my girlfriend, okay?" Woodes said indignantly. "We had a bit of a fight last night and I wanted to apologize, and I couldn't find any other time, so I wrote her a letter and everything, and I slipped it to her while making like I was checking in for attendance and whatever."

"Did it work?"

"We'll find out." Woodes sighed. "Fuck. Josh, you better come with me. We gotta report that Makayla Wallace ran for it right now."

"Yeah, all right. She broke my phone, you know."

"Oh, I'm done with that girl," Woodes sighed. "I'm out of ideas. I tried everything. I try to talk to her, find a way to help her make it here, she runs off. Offered to get tutors, help coach her through, whatever." He sighed again, visibly exhausted.

"She's gotta go through this herself," Josh said. "You did all you could."

"Do you know anything about what's going on with her?"

"All I know is she's fighting some big war with her parents, mostly her mom."

"Did you hear her mom called and pulled her out of that art class she was in? With three weeks left in the semester?"

Josh stared. "She _did _that?" He'd been convinced it was a made-up rumor.

"Yeah. I told Dr. Lyman that was nuts when I heard about it. There's literally no reason to do that so close to the end of the semester. It's completely retarded."

"I bet Makayla took that really well."

"Oh, yeah, we can both see that."

"Hey, Josh, if I got it right, most of this comes out of Makayla Wallace going against what her parents want her to do. Mostly her mom. So, what do you do if that happens for you?"

"I am allowed to respectfully speak up if I disagree with something," Josh said. "All my siblings can do that, too. But ultimately, in my house, Mom and Dad tell you to do something, you do as you're told. My parents' word is law. Period. You follow the chain of command and follow your orders or you get busted."

"Heh, you should have a talk with my parents. They'd like to hear all that."

"I'd be glad to, next time the good Senator and his wife feel like having me and Chris over."

"You know one of you could easily make Head Boy next year if you'd just come back."

"I know."

"Then why leave?"

"Just something I gotta do. Me and Chris both. Dad has wanted us at Remington since before we were born. We have to go back."

"What's life if not trying to make your parents proud?" Woodes asked rhetorically as they entered the administration building, Trask Hall, gratefully embracing the warm air as the door closed behind them. "What's the point if you're not adding glory to the family name? And how can you be a good son or daughter if you don't obey your parents, show them the highest respect?"

_Oh, boy, here we go. The Senator's son is making speeches again. He's not bad at it, though, which helps. He's gonna go far if he keeps it up._

"You're thinking like a regular Xavier student," Josh replied. "Makayla Wallace just doesn't seem to operate that way."

"So what about your phone? If you wanna raise hell, I'll back you up."

Josh considered it, but he ultimately shook his head. "No. There's no need. That girl's gonna be out of here soon enough. I'll tell my parents what happened; they'll understand. We'll just replace it."

**XX**

After a ten-minute meeting with the Headmaster, the two boys headed back out into the cold. Instead of returning to King Hall, however, Woodes veered off towards the Clark Hall dormitory, where he lived in the special room set aside for the Head Boy, complete with its own bathroom and shower.

"We're supposed to be on patrol," Josh said matter-of-factly.

"Just follow me," Woodes replied.

They headed in and went right to the far end of the first-floor hallway, where Woodes got out his key and unlocked the door.

"So?" Josh asked.

"One minute." Woodes closed the door behind him, then went to the footlocker he kept under his bed. He pulled out an opaque glass bottle bearing an image of a bird and the French tricolor flag, and then another, identical bottle, which he handed to Josh.

Josh stared, then grinned. Shock and awe and delight all warred for control of his facial expression.

"Grey Goose? Woodes, you can't be serious."

"I am."

"You said you were done. You said you were all done drinking for stress relief, fun, whatever. Done until 21, remember? You said that!"

"Oh, I'm done, all right," Woodes agreed. "The 8th graders this year have been pretty good, overall, but I guess they decided to pack all the trouble into just one girl this time!" He unscrewed the cap and pulled out the cork.

"At least you're not hiding it in my footlocker anymore, for Pete's sake," Josh said with a wry smile.

"Yeah. Progress. I got a bitch of a headache from that idiot kid Makayla Wallace, and end-of-term exams are gonna make me wanna drink vodka like water, but I got the best fucking Marine brats in the world going to this school with me. One day, Josh, one day, I'll make you my Secretary of Defense."

"Says the high school senior about to illegally drink imported French vodka that he's illegally hiding in his room."

"In his _footlocker_, which the Student Code of Conduct says is the proper place for key personal items."

"You're the _Head Boy_, for Pete's sake."

"Yes," Woodes said, nodding solemnly. "I _should _set a good example. I really should. Be a shame to let this languish in my footlocker any more than it has, though." Woodes looked around his room. "Ah, here we are, going on two in the afternoon, two illegal bottles of fine vodka, almost done with my second-to-last semester, right on the heels of an 8th grader breaking your phone and driving me crazy…" Woodes shrugged. "Cheers!" he said, and upended the bottle.

Josh grinned. He opened his own bottle, raised it, and said, "To the good life. _Esto perpetua_."

"To friendship," Woodes said.

"To victory in the War on Terror."

"Okay," Woodes laughed, "we'll drink to all of those things and then we gotta go back out, act like we're not totally buzzed."

"Let's do it."

"Ready when you are."

* * *

**XX**

* * *

**A/N: 9-7-2019.**

**This story is the result of several back-and-forth PMs between Jenny wrens and myself. I both expressed interest in writing some kind of story set at Xavier Preparatory School, a highly-selective private boarding school located in the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. Possessing a wait list "that starts in the womb" (as specified in Jenny wrens' story "Gibbs' Test", I believe, or if not then in "Adjustments"), XPS could be compared to Sidwell Friends School, which has been called, in real life, "the Harvard of D.C.'s private schools."**

**Head Boy, Head Girl, and the student rank of Prefect are all drawn from British boarding school tradition, which is where J.K. Rowling got those terms and the purposes they serve at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most elite American private schools have generally been boarding schools, and have generally styled themselves after British tradition, so I could see at least one going a step further than most and actually having Prefects, and a Head Boy and Head Girl.**

**Since this school has most likely been around for many decades and Latin mottoes are used almost universally by prestigious American private schools, I picked one, "**_**Esse quam videri**_**," which means "To be, rather than to seem." As I wrote this story, I thought of the Baird School from the 1992 film "Scent of a Woman," which was portrayed by the campus of Princeton University. I expect a school like Xavier would look quite Ivy League, too, especially if it was founded around the same time and/or made use of a similar style of architecture.**

**Woodes Rogers, IV is in the story mostly because I wanted a more diplomatic figure among the students I named, someone more sympathetic to Makayla Wallace and her ongoing problems. Thing is, even Woodes is basically out of ideas and feels literally driven to drink by the fact that not one thing he has tried to help has worked or done any kind of good at all. I wrote him this way because I feel someone genuinely trying to be a good diplomat and leader likely would behave that way, and because I personally feel divided about what's going on with Makayla.**

**On the one hand, Makayla Wallace is honestly not a good fit for a school like Xavier, which prepares students chiefly for university, for careers that are very coat-and-tie like the legal profession and academia. She would be happier and have far fewer conflicts at an art school, which is more suited to her interests and talents. Julia Wallace, in particular, is refusing to see any of that or to genuinely try to talk things out with her daughter. Makayla is under a lot of unreasonable pressure and demands, and I understand the many readers who have said Julia is pushing Makayla way too far, provoking her erratic behavior and causing her great emotional distress. At the end of Chapter 13 of "Adjustments", Gibbs is thinking quite critically of Julia and the effect her behavior and decisions are having on her daughter. I understand Gibbs' thoughts on the matter and sympathize with them.**

**On the other hand, Makayla has run away from Xavier several times now. She has cheated on an exam and actually been expelled once already. The Headmaster- Jenny wrens named him at some point, but I forget in which chapter of "Adjustments" or "Gibbs' Test" this was done- must be a good Christian man, as they say, a patient and forgiving man indeed. Anyone else would have thrown Makayla out and simply admitted another student in her place a while ago. And her own behavior towards the school and her parents has hardly been diplomatic or productive. She is exactly like her mother in many ways, I think- both want to have things their way and hate to back down or take "no" for an answer once they have committed themselves to something. Makayla's repeated provocations and rude and irresponsible behavior, no matter the cause, has done a lot to anger her parents and alienate her fellow students at Xavier.**

**Jenny wrens told me I could go ahead and help her develop the character of Melissa "Missie" Wallace, so I did that in addition to depicting Xavier directly. Melissa is a talented athlete and student, driven and much more compatible with the wants and wishes of her parents than her younger sister Makayla is. I depicted her as being about 17 in late 2005. She is not actively hostile to or unfriendly to Makayla in my depiction; just preoccupied with her own goals and not that interested in what her sister has going on.**

**Joshua Scott Marshall, Junior is not actively hostile or unfriendly to Makayla, either. Like Melissa, he just isn't interested. The same events that are the great struggle of Makayla's life are a mere annoyance to Josh, who mostly just cares about the fact that Makayla (in his eyes) has created a hostile environment in the Wallace house, thus making it unrealistic for him to have a formal dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, a key part of continuing his relationship with Melissa.**

**I cut the phone call between the Marshall children at Xavier- Cassandra, Josh, Jr., Chris, and Brittany- and their parents at MCRD Parris Island mostly for the sake of brevity, as I wanted to keep this a one-chapter story, and because my goal was to show one segment of "Adjustments," Chapter 13 from several other angles.**

**I depicted Melissa and Cassandra as being roommates. They're both quite driven and career-focused, so I figure they could room together and make things work without killing each other. Given that Cassandra has never really tried to be likeable, Melissa is useful as a best friend to her, as she helps soften Cassandra's blunt and often tactless speech.**

**Joshua Scott Marshall, Junior and his twin brother Christian Thomas Marshall are in the 11****th**** grade (junior year of high school) as of late 2005. I estimate that "Adjustments," which this story is set in, is currently in early December 2005, as it is three weeks until the end of the semester as of Chapter 13.**

**Cassandra Marshall is closely based off of Colonel Cassandra Moore in the 2010 video game "Fallout: New Vegas". She is not deliberately cruel towards Makayla Wallace or anyone else; she is just highly narrow-minded, unable and unwilling to much reach out to or try to understand anyone who does not want to live or act the way she does. Cassandra sets standards extremely high for herself and everyone around her, and few ever manage to measure up. This aspect of her personality is both a strength and a weakness, just as it is for Moore and just as it was for Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King, whom I also used as an inspiration.**

**The behavior of the popular students depicted in one segment of this story was not in any way intended to be a documentary of any real-life private schools. I can tell you that, having gone to school on the public and private side of the fence in the United States, elitist rich jerks are NOT somehow unique to or the sole inhabitants of private schools. Anyone who thinks that such kids don't exist at public schools is just kidding themselves.**

**Rich kids are much like any other kids, in that they are extensively shaped by their environment, by what the adults and authority figures in their lives do and do not teach them, what they learn is and is not acceptable, what values and traits are considered virtues. "The arrogance of those to whom much is given," to quote somebody or another, combined with the arrogance of teenage youth, can make you act like a real jerk. And if the parents, in particular, do not stop it, that can become a major part of who the youth is, in high school and in adulthood. On the other hand, I have seen kids born to great money and privilege become perfectly decent, pleasant, and responsible people. Some of the boys and girls among the social elite at Xavier will grow out of their arrogant, immature behavior, some have sidestepped it already, some will always have it.**

**I do not actually condone underage drinking, by the way. And for that matter, neither would either Woodes Rogers, IV's parents or Josh S. Marshall, Jr.'s parents. But having been to boarding school, I can tell you that pushing and breaking rules is done at some time or another by virtually all the students, even the more responsible ones- even the ones you would think would not do it.**

**This story could and would never have been written without Jenny wrens' permission, support, and encouragement. Be sure to thank her and read her work if you haven't already. Leave detailed reviews. She deserves them.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

**XX**

* * *

Trevor Bedford, IV smiled to himself as he hung up the landline phone sitting right next to his desk, a hand-carved masterpiece salvaged from HMS _Royal Sovereign_ when the ship was scrapped in 1781. An heirloom from the family's working-class days, when Befords earned their pay as sailors and Royal Marines aboard the Crown's warships.

Having known in advance that his uncle could get him the information he wanted, Trevor had somewhat considered the call a formality. Still, he had to know for sure prior to spreading the word.

"I got you, _and_ your shitty pickup truck," Trevor said to himself. He chuckled and reached for his cell phone.

Josh S. Marshall, Jr. picked up right away.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"I know who was in that truck." Trevor paused. "I know who _owns_ it, anyway."

"Hit me."

"You ready?"

"Yep."

"Somebody called Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Trevor said with a laugh. "What kind of fucking name is that?"

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Did you hear me?" Trevor said. "That POS truck belongs to-"

"_Gibbs_?" Josh asked suddenly. "_Leroy Jethro Gibbs_?"

"Yeah, man, that's what I said! So I was-"

"Oh, my God." Josh sounded shell-shocked. Then he hung up the phone.

Trevor stared at his phone, dumbfounded. "What the fuck?"

**XX**

With shaking hands, Josh picked up his replacement cell phone, praying he hadn't done something to it. No cracked screen, no damage to they keyboard- it was okay. Thank God for small favors.

Josh opened his contacts list back up, but hesitated for almost a minute before calling. The contact was Brigadier General Joshua Scott Marshall, Senior, Commanding General of Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, recipient of the Presidential Medal of Valor, two-time recipient of the Navy Cross, a living legend in the Marine Corps known by his callsign "Sledgehammer" and his Gulf War tank's name, "Asskicker," or "AK," but Josh had just written "Dad."

After only one ring, the phone was answered by a voice Josh knew well.

"Yes, Josh?"

"Dad?" Josh said in a hoarse voice. He struggled for a moment, cleared his throat.

"Something wrong?" Josh Sr. asked, instantly alert. "What is it?"

"Dad, I- I don't know where to begin."

"I think one word at a time might do best, Devil Dog."

"There was a truck my friends and I saw at school today. Just an old gray Ford-"

"That's pretty unusual around Xavier."

"Yes, sir, it is."

"So what's so interesting about it, son?"

"Dad, Trevor Bedford found out the truck belongs to Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

A pause. "Shit." Another pause. "Was he driving the truck?"

"No, sir. He gave it to some kid, around my age. He looked like ex-military to me."

"I bet I know who Gibbs handed his truck to, then."

"You do, sir?"

"Doesn't matter right now. Don't worry about it."

"Dad, I grew up hearing the name Leroy Jethro Gibbs, but all you ever said was that he was a Marine, and he saved your life. I've never met him. I don't know anything about him except that he's the reason I ever got to grow up knowing my father." Josh's voice shook as he said the last words, and he blinked furiously. Crying was not done easily or often in the Marshall family.

Slowly, carefully, Josh Sr. began to speak. "Josh, the fact that I don't talk about combat at home is not because I don't trust you. It isn't because I don't respect you. There are just things I prefer to keep to myself."

"Does Mom know this guy?"

"No. I never saw him again after the Gulf, not until that trip I had to make to D.C. so I could deal with a situation over at NCIS."

"You saw him?" Josh asked, gripping his phone tighter. "He's alive? What's he doing now?"

"He's a senior agent with NCIS."

Josh gripped his phone tighter. "Dad, I want to meet him. I want all of us to meet him. Mom should meet him, too."

Josh Sr. grunted. "He's only a man, Josh. Just an old Marine."

"Sir, he saved your life. How many times did you tell us kids that?"

"A few."

"I'd like to meet him, sir."

"So you've told me."

"Well, Dad?"

Josh Sr. gave one of his rare sighs, a clear sign that he was either admitting to being worn down, confused, or both. "Josh, right now you need to be keeping your head in the game, getting this semester done as well as you can."

"About that, sir- Chris and I want to stay at Xavier and finish out the year. We'd like to go back to Remington next fall."

"That's against the mission," Josh Sr. intoned. "That's against the strategic plan."

"A plan that can be modified at the commander's desire, sir, provided there is a valid reason."

"That's true," Josh Sr. admitted. "So what do you want me to do? Have you and Chris stay at your fancy prep school another semester and miss out on valuable time getting yourselves ready to enter the Corps?"

"Sir, respectfully, there'll be our senior year at Remington and then four at The Citadel. We'll be ready."

"You will not miss Corps Day at Remington," Josh Sr. said, in a tone that brooked no discussion. "You will continue your extra duties as assistants to the regimental S-5. And you and Chris will devote all the free time you have to achieving the highest level of fitness that you can. You have until next spring."

"Sir?"

"If you can meet those requirements, you and Chris will stay at Xavier and finish out 11th grade."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. We'll get it done."

"Good. Now, as for this thing about Gibbs… you really wanna hear it?"

"Yes. Yes, sir, I do."

"Well, all right. I better come up to Xavier early and just bring the rest of the gang with me. No point telling this a bunch of times when I could tell you all at once."

"Can we go see Agent Gibbs, sir?"

"You're pushing for a lot," Josh Sr. remarked in a stern tone.

"Please, sir," Josh insisted. "It doesn't have to be real soon. I'm just asking that it happen somehow."

"I'll see what I can do," Josh Sr. grunted. "Don't expect him to be some saint, or a marble statue. He's just a man."

"A great man, sir. You've said so yourself many times."

At that, Dad gave one of his rare laughs, a deep chuckle that came from somewhere way down in his belly. It had never once failed to make his kids smile, and never would. You knew you'd earned it when you got Joshua Scott Marshall, Senior, to laugh.

"You've got me there, Josh. Okay, all right. I'll see what I can do."

Josh smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

"If Gibbs tells me to shove it, I won't argue with him," Josh Sr. warned. "He's got every right to do that. His free time is his to spend however he likes, and he has a right to privacy."

"Yes, sir," Josh agreed. "But nobody says no to the Sledgehammer. That's what they tell me down at the Sandbar."

"Somebody at the Sandbar is a fuckin' liar."

In the background, Elizabeth Marshall laughed with obvious delight. Josh grinned.

"Mom doesn't seem to think so, Dad."

"Keep that hatch closed, mister, or I'll have you thrown in the Potomac. I got some old friends who'd do it just for shits and giggles."

Mom laughed again, louder this time.

"I love you, Dad," Josh said.

"I look forward to seeing all the little girls dressed up for the choir performance at the end of the semester," Josh Sr. shot back. "Especially the ones dressed up like my sons."

"Dad, I said I love you."

"I love you, too, son. Now get off the damn phone and let me get some sleep."

"Tell Mom I love her."

"I will. Semper Fi."

"Semper Fi, Dad."

After hanging up the phone, Josh took the silver necklace he wore during the day off his neck and held it up beneath the lamp on his desk. The pendant depicted the Marshall family crest, featuring the words SIC PARVIS MAGNA at the base. Greatness from small beginnings.

"All right, Gibbs," Josh murmured. "So that's your truck. But who the hell have you got driving it? And how's Dad know who that kid is?"

**XX**

Of course there had to be a surprise Prefect's Meeting tonight. Of course! Because none of the Prefects had anything else to do in the final weeks of the semester. But the word came from Woodes Rogers himself, and that handsome, pompous ass was just too sure of himself to doubt.

Melissa Wallace was so busy that she barely had time to think. To think! Her boyfriend, Josh, was too much of a gentleman to ever complain that she was neglecting him, but he was starting to look a bit like a lost puppy. A really handsome, fit puppy, but a lost one nonetheless. And if Melissa wasn't careful, she'd slip up, drop below a 4.2 GPA, and possibly get rejected from one of her dream list colleges. And she couldn't have that.

_It'd be nice if I could get Josh to take his shirt off and just lay around for a while. I could study, take a break and look at the eye candy, and then study some more. Study, eye candy. Study, eye candy. Not a bad idea, honestly._

But, ah, the Prefect's Meeting. Someone was out of their mind.

As a Prefect and roommate to the Head Girl, Melissa was double cursed. Literally no way was she getting out of this unless she called in dead, which was tempting right now.

Melissa was so busy thinking about all that, she barely looked at the door to her room as she opened it. She barely looked at her roommate's bed, either, until she noticed Lukas Shepard was on it. And he wasn't wearing a shirt. Or pants. The lean, well-muscled teen looked just as surprised as Melissa must have, and ditto for Cassandra, who abruptly drew one athletic foot back and kicked Lukas clear off the bed.

Lukas made a strange noise as he flew off the bed and hit the floor. It was somewhere between "Whuh!" and "Wha?" Either way, he didn't get a lot of time to consider his new location. With astounding speed Cassandra sat up, reached down, and shoved Lukas far under her bed with both hands. The teenage boy gave another "Whuh/Wha," rolled, and hit the wall with a thump.

"Yes, yes, yes? What, what, what?" Cassandra asked, firing the words off rapidly. Her cheeks were red as a barn door and she abruptly reached up and pulled the white tee that acted as her uniform undershirt back down over her midriff. "Yes? Did you need something? This is a girls' room!"

Cassandra noticed Melissa looking at Lukas' pants, shoes, socks, necktie, blazer, t-shirt, white button-down shirt, and quickly threw them all under the bed.

"I am a girl," Melissa said, as if nothing unusual had just happened.

"Good! So, what did you want?"

Melissa hesitated. "Lukas' pecs are looking great today. His shoulders, too. Oh, and the guns."

"Sank you!" Lukas said with great effort; whenever he got excited or nervous his German accent became far more prominent than normal.

Cassandra snatched up one of her uniform shoes and threw it under the bed with incredible speed and accuracy. Lukas cried out, so she threw the other one, and he stayed quiet that time.

"I'd say his got some great abs, and you shouldn't forget about those," Cassandra remarked, "but he's not here. At all. And if he was he'd be wearing all his clothes."

"So-"

"Yes? What is it?" Cassandra asked. "What's going on, Missie?"

"Prefect's Meeting, in the lounge they reserved just for us Prefects."

"So, uh, first floor of the Alumni Hall."

"That's it. And, uh, no shirtless German boys are allowed."

"Oh, good. Well, I mean, there's none of those around here!" Cassandra said, then uttered this crazy-sounding laugh. None of this was anything like her usual stone-faced, utterly controlled self. Melissa found she liked it, because such moments were a clear reminder that Cassandra Marshall was human just like everybody else.

**XX**

Looking suitably dignified, Lukas Shepard showed up at the meeting alongside his girlfriend, her roommate, and the Marshall twins. He made sure to remind himself that, if someone else had seen or noticed anything amiss, he had never been to the girls' dormitory. As a matter of fact, if questioned, he didn't know what a dormitory was, didn't know what girls were, and did not even speak English.

The Head Boy, Woodes Rogers, had occupied his designated chair like it was a damn throne or something. He nodded to the group Lukas was with, and things looked good so far. Lukas was in uniform exactly as regulations required, necktie at a full Windsor and everything. No danger of him being found half-naked or anything.

"All right," Woodes said as Cassandra took her seat beside him. "Looks like we're all here. Time to call the roll and make sure. Cassandra?"

"The Head Boy and Head Girl are present," Cassandra stated formally, adjusting her gold Head Girl's badge. "Joshua Marshall, Junior."

"Present."

"Christian Marshall."

"Present."

"Lukas Shepard."

"Present," Lukas said. _And I'm wearing all my clothes! Never thought I could dress that fast under a bed!_ The thought was hilarious enough that Lukas was suddenly struggling not to break out into laughter.

"Alan Parks," Cassandra said, unaware of her boyfriend's internal struggle.

"Present," the redhead replied.

"Bradley Campbell, the Third."

"Present."

"Susan Heisler."

"Present."

"Samantha Byron."

"Present."

"Emily Wright."

"Present."

"Karen McCann."

"Present."

"Melissa Wallace."

"Present."

"All right," Cassandra said, "Let's get started. I don't know why we had to have a meeting at this ungodly hour but-"

"I know," Chris Marshall said as he stood up.

"Enlighten us," Cassandra told him.

"My fellow Prefects, I talked to my brother William last night. I told him how some of the student body- even some of us Prefects- responded when that old Ford pickup truck showed up on the campus the other day. He already knows about the situation with Makayla Wallace, and he said nobody's fighting for her. I explained that Makayla's problems are her own fault, or at least they are, mostly, but…" Chris hesitated, shaking his head. "Fellow Prefects, we follow the chain of command strictly in my family. William is the youngest and he knows that better than anyone. But he argued with me. He shouted. He said someone has to help Makayla Wallace, and it might as well be us."

Chris cleared his throat. "William has never shouted at me in my life. I don't know what to do about it, except to say… Makayla Wallace was not, and is not, a good fit for this school. Her mother is a good mother, a good woman, but she just doesn't understand that Makayla needs to be going to school somewhere else. An art school. We are the leaders of the Xavier student body, one of the most exclusive in North America and the world. We are the most entrusted among some of the most privileged. Makayla Wallace may have created many of her current problems, but she should be going somewhere else. I'd like for us to find some way to help her get there. It'll be better for us, better for her, and better for Xavier Prep."

The red-haired teenager paused again, then abruptly sat down, looking like he'd just run a marathon.

Woodes Rogers stood up. "Fellow Prefects," he said, "it's been a long time since I heard somebody speak that well in this room. I know not everyone at this school feels sympathetically towards Makayla Wallace. I myself decided I'd given up after the latest time she skipped class and left the campus without permission. But-"

A cell phone started going off suddenly, and the voices of the Royal Teens from 1958 sang out in the Prefect's meeting room of 2005:

_Who wears short shorts?_

_We wear short shorts!_

_They're such short shorts_

_We like short shorts_

_Who wears short shorts?_

_We wear short shorts!_

Lukas, who had become addicted to American Fifties music shortly after crossing the Atlantic, was the only one with a ringtone like that and everybody in the room knew it. Not to mention it was impossible not to know where the sound was coming from, not in a room of a dozen students. Lukas hurriedly grabbed for his phone, face burning, and he managed to press some button or something, because it fell silent. He felt for and held the power button and turned the damned thing off.

"Mein- my entschu- my apologies," Lukas said carefully.

"Yes, well," Woodes said, looking a bit put out, "as I was saying we have certain discretionary powers as a body. Xavier has invested a great deal in its Prefects for over a century, and on the rare occasion they make a recommendation unanimously… the Board of Governors and the Headmaster must give it full consideration."

"What Woodes is saying," Cassandra said as she stood up, "is that if we recommend that Makayla Wallace be sent to- whatever art school she wants to go to, the big-shots can make the best arrangements for her there. Everyone knows Xavier. We're the Harvard of D.C. prep schools; the _New York Times_ put out a piece about it in 1998. So if we want to get rid of her, let's do it the best way possible."

"She's supposed to be finishing the current school year," Alan Parks spoke up. "Isn't this whole blowup over- what is it about, _this_ time?"

"Her mother took her out of the art class she was in," Woodes said. "As far as I know that's what set Makayla Wallace off again. She's not a real happy person lately."

"Mrs. Wallace yanked Makayla out of a class with _three weeks_ left?" Karen McCann questioned.

"Yes."

"Why?" Emily Wright asked, sounding as confused as she looked.

"I have no idea."

Parks frowned. "Has anyone tried talking to her about it?"

"You haven't met my Mom," Melissa said. "When she's made up her mind it's hard to change it. Almost impossible."

"Babe," Josh said, "I say we try. Say the Prefects unanimously vote to commend Makayla Wallace for her, uh, her extraordinary artwork, her clear show of promise for even greater achievement in the future, and for reflecting great credit on Xavier Preparatory School with her blah blah and so on." The redhead looked at Woodes Rogers. "So, Woodes, think we can throw together something good?"

"Yes, I'm sure that could happen," Woodes answered.

"Christ," Alan Parks said, "have _any_ of us even seen her work? _Any_ of it?"

"No," Woodes said. "Not that I know of." He sighed. "Okay. I don't think we can move right now. We have to wait. If Makayla Wallace keeps running off, nobody who's even _thinking_ of helping her can do anything."

"Woodes is right," Cassandra said. "I agree that tossing that girl a bone is probably our best way of getting her out of here, and that'll be best for everybody. But if she just keeps running away, or if she gets caught cheating again, then we can make _another_ unanimous recommendation."

Cassandra reached into the Head Girl's desk, pulled out a typed sheet of paper and held it up. "This is what we should've done already. A recommendation for Makayla Wallace's dismissal from Xavier Preparatory School, to be sent to the Headmaster, the Dean of Students, and to the Board of Governors. Sooner or later she'll be finished here, anyway. We can help make sure it happens sooner. That will be best."

Lukas stood up, and with a nod from Woodes Rogers he spoke. "The Prefects cannot rightly do anything for now. We cannot be seen commending a girl with a record this bad if she only continues to add to it. But we also should not hurry to have her dismissed. We can afford to wait a little longer and see what happens."

"Do _nothing_?" Cassandra almost shouted. Her ferocious temper, so much like her father's, was flaring up. "_That's _the idea? We got dragged out here to talk about this- this _stupid_ little girl, this girl who keeps causing more trouble than she has _any_ right to! Just why the hell are we _giving_ her so much? Why the hell don't we just vote now, and recommend that she get the hatch, _like she deserves_?"

Lukas stared at his girlfriend, too stunned to speak.

"Because William says we oughta stick up for her!" Josh said as he jumped up, and he _was_ shouting. "Because nobody but Woodes has even _tried_ to help this girl, not one of us in this _fucking_ room!"

"I think-" Melissa began, but Cassandra silenced her with a sharp gesture. "_Quiet_, Melissa!"

"Don't you _say_ that to her!" Josh yelled. "Just who do you think you are?!"

"You will _not _talk to me like that!" Cassandra fired back.

"I can! I am! Will wants us to stick up for this girl! At least give her a chance to get her shit together in the last three weeks!"

From Melissa Wallace to Alan Parks to Karen McCann, all the other Prefects had frozen in their seats. Only their eyes moved, swiveling back and forth as they watched the shouting match between the three Marshall siblings. Even Woodes Rogers just stood there, dumbfounded, entirely forgotten as the two brothers and their sister battled it out. No one had ever seen this before. The Marshalls were a tight-knit group and had never before had a fight in public.

"She's _had _her chance!" Cassandra shot back. "It's about time you-"

"We're not _doing _this for us!" Chris yelled, on his feet as well. "We're doing this because Will _wants _us to! Makayla Wallace _could_ have a great future as an artist; I don't know! But maybe if someone actually gets in the trenches and fights for her, maybe she'll _show us that_! Nobody's even stopped to give her a fair chance! _You_ think you can just bully anybody you want and always get your way, because you've got everybody _scared_ of you! You gonna act like that in the Marines?!"

Cassandra pounded a fist on her desk several times in rapid succession, so hard that Lukas swore he could've felt the floor shaking over ten feet away.

"That's enough!" Cassandra bellowed. "THAT- IS- _ENOUGH_!"

The room was silent. Nobody moved.

Lukas quietly sat down, ashamed to have, one way or another, been the start of all this.

"Cass," Chris said, "Please. Just give it three weeks." His voice shook badly, and it sounded like he was fighting back tears.

Josh struggled to clear his throat, failed, dropped back into his chair and stared at his feet, head in his hands. His twin sat down next to him, patted his brother's shoulder in a silent gesture of solidarity.

Lukas stood up again. He didn't want to, really didn't, but he felt like he ought to speak.

"I believe we should allow Makayla Wallace the remaining time of this semester. We can at least do that. If she only continues to run off, or if she cheats again, we can all recommend for her expulsion."

Lukas walked up to the Head Girl's desk, where Cassandra still stood, looking, for once, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do or say next. He took out a pen, flipped to the second page of Cassandra's document, where the Prefects could each add their Yea or Nay signatures, and signed under the Yea column.

"There," Lukas said. "I've already voted. If Makayla Wallace does nothing but go on and fuck it all up, I will back you all the way. We will get her out of here, whatever it takes. But she has to have time. Let _her_ decide what will happen to her here."

Cassandra looked down at her boyfriend, visibly troubled. For almost a minute they stood there, not moving, not speaking, the room's other occupants all still and silent. Then she spoke a mere two words.

"All right."

* * *

**XX**

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**A/N: 9-15-2019.**

**I rather spontaneously got the idea and the inspiration to write a follow-up to my first chapter of this story, which was intended, originally, to be the only chapter. I added this one because it made sense to do so the more I thought about it. Several of the Xavier Preparatory School students who saw Gibbs' truck and who was in it are stated in my work as being school prefects. That puts them in a position of authority well above the average student, and as precarious as Makayla Wallace's position at XPS is, as much as she's done to draw attention to herself, I can see plenty of reason why the prefects might have a meeting just to talk about her.**

**William Marshall is an unseen OC in this chapter, but an important one. He's 10 years old in late November/early December 2005, which is the current setting of Jenny wrens' story "Adjustments". He is quieter and less forceful of a personality than his three oldest siblings are, but he is greatly respected and cared for by the other Marshall children. The way I pictured it is that he heard about Makayla through his siblings, looked outside their relatively narrow way of evaluating her, and decided she needed someone to stick up for her. As the prefects' meeting should make clear, Makayla has not made it easy for anybody to defend or fight for her, so the best the twins could get was at least halting Cassandra's renewed effort to try and push Makayla out.**

"**I can! I am!" is a reference to the famous TV series "Game of Thrones," which is adapted from the series of books of the same name written by George R.R. Martin. The line comes from the scene when Tyrion Lannister is shouting at Joffrey Baratheon and Joffrey indignantly says "You can't insult me!" or "You can't talk to me like that!". One or the other.**

**I haven't figured out yet where exactly Xavier is, but I'm estimating either Northern Virginia or southern Maryland, rather than inside Washington, D.C. itself. The far end of the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia is inside the greater D.C. metropolitan area, but it's on the outside of it and a big-shot prep school like Xavier would likely be more centrally located. Besides, some of the privileged students going there might not so casually insult West Virginia if their school happened to be located there.**

**I will most likely write a third chapter for this story, but this is intended as a kind of tie-in or companion work to "Adjustments" and Chapter 14 for that story has not been posted yet. I may decide to wait and see what developments Jenny wrens depicts in the next chapter of "Adjustments" before continuing this.**

**My sincere thanks to DS2010 for reviewing Chapter 1 of this story.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

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**XX**

* * *

**A/N: This chapter has a FAR more interesting story behind it than I had planned. See, I began work on Chapter 3 back on 10-30-2019. I wrote about 4 pages and then stopped until 11-7-2019. I wrote 7 more pages, bringing the chapter to a satisfactory length, and then left for a while. The laptop crashed and when I turned it back on, I blindly and stupidly assumed that I had already saved my work, or something. I had not saved my work. Microsoft Office 365, Word specifically, HAD saved my work, but instantly when the side-tab/window popped up asking if I wanted the recovered unsaved file, I said no, delete it. And so it did, destroying 7 pages and several hours of careful work.**

**My writing is often a slow, meticulous, time-consuming process. I have to "get in the zone" and that can sometimes take a LONG time. One single thoughtless mistake and I obliterated the work of several hours, forcing me to completely rewrite the overwhelming majority of a chapter I was just about to post. Never, ever, ever make my mistake. Save your work, save it again, and in ten minutes save it a third time. Be careful what you click on, because one thoughtless, automatic choice and you could throw away your own work.**

**Ironically enough, I actually like my work on this second version of Chapter 3 better than the original. One of the upsides of writing the chapter again is that my thoughts on how it would go even-wise were already gathered, meaning I was refining and editing it, more or less, as I reconstructed it. The end result is also several pages longer than the original Chapter 3. Altogether, I can work with this, and I hope any readers like it.**

**Jenny wrens deserves all the praise I can give for her excellent and thought-provoking storytelling. This story of mine is just a small show of my appreciation, a way of giving readers another look at the story "Adjustments" and the AU for NCIS that Jenny wrens has created. Given the events of Chapters 14-17, I believe this one will be especially important.**

**And by the way, Jenny wrens, I enjoyed reading your review of Chapter 2 for this story. The start of Chapter 3 is for you. Trevor Bedford may finally be getting a much-needed talking to about his constant use of profanity.**

**A special thank-you to all who have reviewed, or will review this story.**

* * *

**XX**

* * *

Trevor Bedford, IV wandered downstairs into the vast expanse of the kitchen, enjoying the feel of the polished marble tiles under his feet. He was wearing his hand-tailored Brooks Brothers bathrobe, the emerald green one embroidered with the family crest. Right now, he wasn't wearing more than a pair of boxers underneath, and he liked it that way.

I better see what's in the fridge, or what isn't, I mean, Trevor thought with a small laugh. He got out his phone as it started buzzing, flipped it open and started talking as he opened the enormous refrigerator's polished chrome right door.

"No fucking way, Josh. I already fucking told you, I'm not gonna risk my ass to help the Runaway. Hell, I'm not even going outta my way at all for her. She's not my problem. She keeps fucking running off and expulsion's what's coming. Good fucking riddance anyway, Xavier needs to do more to keep out the rif-raff."

"I'm dating that girl's sister," Josh Marshall, Jr. said. "And like it or not, the Prefects' Council voted to get someone to open up Mr. Easton's classroom after hours so we can have a look at Makayla Wallace's artwork."

"I'm not a prefect," Trevor said. "This isn't my fucking problem, Josh. I don't care what the girl draws."

"I know you have a key to that classroom."

"Yeah," Trevor laughed, "I fucking swiped it for fun! Not because I fucking give a shit about this stupid little girl." He reached around with his free hand, decided on some leftover rotisserie chicken. He set it out on the counter and closed the door with his left foot.

"Trevor, you just need to help us out."

"No I fucking don't! I absolutely don't!" Trevor objected, growing annoyed as well as amused. "I'm telling you, she's a fucking waste of time! Girl doesn't have a chance in hell. She's basically out of Xavier already." He scoffed. "Good riddance, anyway."

"I'm not taking no on this," Josh Jr. said sternly. "You get me that key or Woodes and Cass are gonna find out you have it, and they _will_ get it. You know they will."

"Oh, Jesus, Josh," Trevor protested, madly backpedaling now. "Aren't we friends?"

"We are."

"So fucking gimme a break! My girl hasn't put out in two motherfucking weeks and I'm a little on edge."

"I will if you let me have that key. That's all I'm asking."

"Fine. Matter of fact, it's in my locker at school. Top shelf in the corner where nobody can see it. Just go in and get it when you need it."

"See, now, was that so hard?"

"Hey, don't talk to me about hard, you fucking creep," Trevor said with a grin. "I'm having to jerk the fuck off all the time to make up for the loss of my girl keeping me warm, you get me?"

"What, you think she's gonna break up with you?"

"No. I mean, maybe." Trevor shifted the phone against his ear. "I just think we're going through a rough spell, that's all. Hey, listen, I'm gonna count on you to be there next weekend, okay? I got some guys from Woodberry Forest meeting up with at least half of The Boys, and we're all planning on getting drunk out of our fucking skulls. I know you and Chis are in."

"I won't cheat on my girl. You know that."

"It's just a fucking guys' drinking party!" Trevor exclaimed. "We're just gonna drink expensive booze like it's fucking water and blow off steam 'cause going to a prep school on the verge of exams fucking- it- uh-"

Trevor broke off and stuttered to a halt as he noticed he wasn't alone in the kitchen anymore. He turned around as the main kitchen lights came on, and stood frozen in place, rooted to the spot as his mother stared him down from the doorway to the garage.

**XX**

The tirade that followed was one of the fiercest Josh, Jr. had ever heard in his life. It rivaled many of Cassandra's and surpassed a few of them.

"Trevor Noah Bedford, you give me those car keys right now! This instant!"

"Mom! I didn't do anything, my Mercedes-"

"-Was paid for on the condition that you conduct yourself in keeping with the standards of the family name! That filthy mouth of yours, Trevor! You have shamed this family!"

"Mom!" Trevor cried again, and there was a lot of clunking and static as someone wrestled for the phone and it dropped either to the counter or the floor. "Ow! Leggo of my ear! I don't normally talk like that! Honest!"

"I _know_ a habit when I see one! Now, are you going to keep lying to me?"

"I wasn't- I didn't-" Trevor suddenly wailed enough that his voice cracked. "Mom! You- _please_ don't take my car keys! I _need_ 'em!"

Josh listened, not sure whether to be horrified or amused. Finally, the line went dead, and he set down the cell phone.

A tennis ball struck Josh in the back of the head; he turned around in time to see Chris catch it.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself. So what was that just now? I could hear someone yelling on the other end of the line."

"Trevor's in some trouble with his parents now. His mom caught him swearing."

"Well, that may interfere with that party he was trying to set up."

"Should we go if it happens?"

"I don't think so. I think now's not a good time for it."

"Why?"

"Just a feeling I have. For one thing, Cass will kill us."

"She would anyway."

"She's especially on edge right now," Chris answered. "This isn't the right time."

Josh considered that. "So, what do you wanna do?"

"Go the weight room."

"Okay. Let's do it." Josh got up, grabbed his gym bag, and headed out into the dorm hallway with his brother.

**XX**

Woodes was already there when Josh and Chris showed up; he waved them over and bumped fists with each of them.

"The warriors return," Woodes said. "So, I think you ought to know, Cassandra wants all of the prefects to go see Makayla Wallace's artwork tonight. She wants to call a Prefect's Council."

"She's really doing that?" Josh asked, genuinely startled. "What-"

"You and Chris started all this, so don't even argue with me," Woodes said.

"Listen, I didn't start it," Josh said, but Woodes held up a hand.

"Josh, man, you yelled at the Ice Queen. What were you even thinking? If you weren't her brother she'd have probably taken you out by now."

"Are you really calling my sister that?" Josh asked, more than a little indignant.

"Well, it's more flattering than The Howitzer. You know, 'cause she pounds her opponents into submission, never lets up? Actually, The Howitzer sounds cooler."

"I don't want you calling her either of those," Josh said, his tone brooking no argument.

"Hey, man, I was kidding. And it isn't like she's right behind me or anything."

"No, Woodes, she's just within earshot."

Woodes slapped a palm to his forehead. "Oh, shit."

Cassandra got up from the incline bench-press, walked over, and looked at Woodes, almost amused.

"You really need to check your surroundings, Woodes."

"Right."

"You really want everyone to go see Makayla Wallace's stuff, all at once?" Josh asked.

"Yes. Don't you dare argue with me, either. You wanted me to sit and wait while we see if that girl fucks up again? I know she will if she's left to her own devices. So what we're all gonna do is go over and see her damn artwork. I'm willing to see if it's worth anything. In one hour, we're going."

"Okay, Cass," Chris agreed. "Everyone'll be ready."

"Good. I'll be over at the track in the meantime. Lukas is trying to beat me on a 5K again."

Josh looked after his big sister as she left, absolutely confident and self-assured as always. He wondered sometimes what Cassandra really thought of the names other kids called her, the things they said about her. She was respected, even feared, but rarely was she liked by anybody. She did little to inspire affection in others. To hear Lukas tell it, Cassandra had next to no friends because she intimidated everyone by being so exceptional. Josh could never say it outright, but he knew that wasn't true. Cassandra had next to no friends because she wasn't friendly.

But that didn't seem to be a problem for her the way it would've been for most her age. Cassandra had the friends she wanted, the few who met her standards. She had her family and her boyfriend, both of whom got to see the warmer, more human side of Cassandra Marshall, the wonderful human being she really was. Whatever her reasons, Cassandra insisted on putting up a hard shell to the majority of the world and few ever got past it. Many never tried. They simply assumed that Cassandra Marshall was a cast-iron bitch and left it at that.

That wasn't true either, and Josh took it as an insult if he heard about it. He'd been in fights over that very topic before, and every time, Chris had jumped in to aid him whether or not he even knew what the fight was about. If a member of House Marshall was engaged in battle in any way, you sided with them. You never betrayed the family. You stood together. Mom and Dad had made sure six of their children understood that perfectly.

"You think Makayla Wallace is any good at drawing, painting, whatever it is?" Chris asked Josh.

"Sure as Trevor Bedford's grounded until 2007, we gotta go see for ourselves."

"Hey, that's good," Woodes laughed. "C'mon, guys. Spot me over at the bench press?

"I'll spot both of you," Chris boasted. "It'll take both of you dorks to spot for me, so fair's fair, yeah?"

"Oh, the fighting Marshalls," Woodes said. "Their valor is not quite exceeded by their modesty."

**XX**

Founded in 1850, Xavier Preparatory School had modeled itself after British standards and traditions of education since the beginning. American terms like "grade" instead of "form" had gradually filtered in, but the prefects remained, filling their role as they always had as the designated leaders of the student body. Among their less-official duties was a need to foster and maintain good relations with "the help," the numerous support staff attending the needs of Xavier. It was a wise prefect who knew the janitors by name and treated them well, and a foolish one who talked down to them, treated them coldly. You never wanted to anger a janitor or a secretary, because both, literally and figuratively, held the keys to power.

So when Cassandra found Mr. Jameson waiting for the group of distinguished upperclassmen despite the cold and the wind, waiting to let the prefects in so they could attend to whatever business they had in King Hall so late after class hours, she greeted him as she would a friend.

"Mr. Jameson," she called out warmly. "Forgive us for not arriving sooner. We did not mean to make you wait outside. Thank you for being here."

"It's always good to see you," the older man replied. "Now that we're all here-" he turned and opened the side door, allowing the prefects in. "Now, I don't really need to know, because I trust all of you, but what brings you folks over here this time of night?"

"Makayla Wallace," Cassandra said neutrally. "I hear she's quite the sketch artist. We wanted to get a good look at whatever work she'd done before her mother had her taken out of art class."

"Well, that's all right with me," Mr. Jameson said. "Although, wouldn't bother me if the Board of Governors remembered my name come bonus time."

Cassandra smiled. "I'll talk to Mom. She's always liked you."

"Go on up and have a look," Mr. Jameson said, waving expansively at the stairs. "I'll be looking over some supply lists I gotta fill out. The floor wax doesn't stock itself."

"Thank you, Mr. Jameson," Cassandra said. "We won't be long."

**XX**

They found the door to the art classroom in question unlocked, making the key they'd brought unnecessary. Cassandra led them into the room, looking for wherever Makayla Wallace's work was kept. They all knew the search couldn't be too difficult. Sure enough, Bradley Campbell found it in a labeled cubby-hole, all put away, perhaps, because Makayla had been removed from the class.

"Hey, why did her mother take her outta here anyway?" Alan Parks asked.

"No idea," Chris answered.

"Melissa?" Josh asked.

"I don't wanna talk about it right now," Melissa answered.

"Sure."

"Let's take everything out and have a look," Cassandra said. "I wanna know if that girl is wasting my time."

Cassandra pulled out several folders of drawings, some paintings, two sketchbooks and a few ceramic bowls. The paintings and bowls were all right, but Josh didn't think them anything special. Neither did Cassandra, clearly, because she quickly set them aside. Then she opened up the folders one by one and set them out on the counter running along this length of wall, perpendicular to the hallway.

"Hey, she drew the foosball- the foot-ball field," Lukas exclaimed. "Look! This is good!"

"Hm," Cassandra said. She looked at the pencil sketch Lukas offered her, said "Hm" again and went back to looking through the sketchbook she'd picked up.

"She drew all this?" Melissa asked in disbelief, looking at the many drawings as the other prefects spread them around, compared them to each other.

"I guess so," Josh said.

"I'm no artist but this all looks pretty damn good to me," Chris said.

Cassandra huffed irritably. "Oh, so she can draw. Fine. That doesn't excu-" she stopped mid-sentence and gazed silently down at the page she'd just turned to in the sketchbook."

"Cass?" Woodes asked curiously. Cassandra held up a hand. After almost a minute of quiet, she handed the book over to Lukas, who took it and regarded it with awe.

"Hey," Lukas said faintly. "That's me."

Josh edged closer and peered over Lukas' shoulder, and right away he saw why this drawing had gotten Cassandra's attention.

It was a virtual snapshot of a scene back in early November, the hardest game the varsity boys' soccer team had faced the entire season. A light drizzle had turned into heavy rain by halftime, yet the fierce rivalry between Woodberry Forest School and Xavier Preparatory School drove both teams to fight on. Xavier was playing at home and had their honor on the line, and Woodberry Forest was loathe to concede anything to their oldest and closest rival without a fight.

Ten minutes or so into the second half, Lukas was running close beside James Shea, Woodberry Forest's captain and best forward. The two were in fierce competition over possession of the ball, and the instant James Shea lost his footing and fell behind, Lukas took the ball and spun around, ready to take the clear shot on the goal that was left open to him. But he heard Shea go down with a scream, saw him gripping his left knee. Lukas stopped what he was doing and ran back, the ball entirely forgotten.

As the referees had argued with Lukas over what had happened amidst the downpour, Shea, incredibly, had struggled to his feet and tried to make it off the field on his own. He took one step with his left foot and immediately it gave under his weight. Lukas was there faster than anyone. He caught Shea as he fell, threw the other boy's left arm around his shoulders, and held him up. Lukas gritted his teeth and walked one step at a time through the rain, talking to Shea all the while, until they made it back to the WFS team's tent.

Someone spotted Lukas limping then, and it came out that the German had cracked his right ankle at some point in the process. Not all the drops on his face were from the rain, and Josh knew that walking Shea off the field like that with an injured ankle must have been agony. But he made it. Lukas was benched after Coach Reynolds checked him over, but he stubbornly limped over to the Woodberry Forest tent, where he and Shea made a show of arguing and cheering on each other's teams. The fight went on right up to the last minute of the game, and it took several minutes for the referees to decide that Bradley Campbell's last-second shot on the goal counted and Xavier had won.

The moment Makayla Wallace had captured was not of the raucous celebration among the XPS boys, the shouting and cheering, the mud-spattered boys in their soaking wet uniforms yelling themselves hoarse. It showed Lukas Shepard and James Shea walking off the field together, faces twisted with pain, filled with resolve. It was a classic scene of sportsmanship and gentlemanly conduct, and had made a great impression on the fans, players, coaches, parents, and alumni of both schools. Lukas, for his part, had shied away from all the attention. He insisted there was nothing interesting about the act, that anyone would have done the same, but he and James Shea talked almost everyday and were fast becoming best friends.

"How did she even draw this?" Chris asked. "Was she there watching the game?"

"Well, almost everybody was. Lucky for us they got that giant awning, or tent or whatever set up."

"It looks like a picture," Lukas said. "It's in pencil… but it looks so real. That's really me. That's Jimmy."

"It's not bad," Cassandra said. "Lukas, come on. I wanna talk to you."

"Okay."

"You people look all you want, but put everything back just like it was," Cassandra said.

"You heard her," Woodes added. "I don't want anything out of place. We were never here."

"How can some kid in the 8th grade draw like this?" Susan Heisler asked. "I mean, why haven't we heard about it?"

"I don't know," Josh said.

Lukas, Woodes, and Cassandra left the room, talking quietly.

Josh and Chris sifted through the drawings and sketchbooks together, finding themselves immersed in the lifelike and richly detailed world Makayla Wallace had crafted with nothing but pencils and some paper. Josh knew he couldn't have done so well in 8th grade, or now, if his life had depended on it. He was a lot of things, but he was no artist. Makyala Wallace was.

"Hey," Susan Heisler said. "Josh, you oughta see this. Melissa. This one's of you."

"What?" Josh asked. "Which one?"

Susan handed the paper over, and Melissa said, "Wow." Josh nodded. "Yeah."

This drawing was of Melissa standing in a hallway on King Hall's second floor, right hand holding one backpack strap. She was turning her head, her features just beginning to light up into one of her beautiful smiles, red hair flowing over her shoulders. Josh didn't see himself in the drawing, but Melissa was there, as stunning and graceful as an angel. It could've been any number of days this past fall, any one out of numerous times when Melissa had waited for Josh outside of one of his classrooms. She did the same as he did, when he waited for her- stood there acting as if she were waiting for a bus. Oh, my boyfriend? He has a class right in there? I had no idea.

It had to have been sometime around September, though, because Josh had given Melissa his necklace, the one bearing the family crest, to wear for a whole week. It was there, around her neck, meticulously detailed. You could make out enough of the silver crest's details that Josh instantly thought of the rest. Namely the family motto, "_Sic Parvis Magna_," or "Greatness from small beginnings." Boastful, maybe, but fitting. The Marshalls had come from nothing, from the smallest beginnings possible, and now they were rapidly establishing themselves among the social elite.

Josh's heart stopped as he took in the stunning level of detail that Makayla had given to this drawing. She had paid no less attention to the others- you could see perfectly-rendered individual leaves on trees, for Chrissakes- but this was of special interest to Josh. He was mesmerized. Everyone else had fallen silent, too, and gradually they all filtered back out of the room, preoccupied with their thoughts.

Finally, Melissa, Chris and Josh were the only ones left. They put everything back and left the room, leaving no sign that they had been there.

**XX**

Right at 8AM, Woodes Rogers walked into the inner sanctum of Xavier Preparatory School, the office of the Headmaster. He had waited alongside his female counterpart, Cassandra Marshall, but not for long. Things moved fast at Xavier, and the Head Boy and Head Girl were among the few students who could ask for an audience with the Head practically at will and get one. It was a privilege best used sparingly, but today it was necessary.

"Cassandra, Woodes," the Headmaster said from behind his desk, nodding to them. "You both look like you have something on your mind."

"Yes, sir," Woodes said. "It's about Makayla Wallace."

"Cassandra and I were just talking about her the other day," the Head replied. "I assume you both know my decision has not changed." He paused. "Is it true that your brother Josh didn't have his phone broken? That wasn't caused by Makayla as she… left the campus?"

"I think Josh is covering for her," Cassandra said immediately. "I don't know why. Josh has never been clumsy like that but he's saying he dropped it himself."

"Yes, that's the story he gave when he and Woodes were recounting what they saw to me. I suppose short of making a formal Honor Code case out of it, there's nothing we can do if that's the story he wants to stick to. If he wants to forgive her and let his parents take care of that phone, that's his business. I see no need to press the matter unless Makayla Wallace should insist on bringing it up."

Woodes nodded. "I agree, sir."

"Then what business brings you both here this morning?"

Cassandra plunged ahead, direct as ever: "I think Makayla Wallace should be given a commendation for her artwork."

The Head's eyebrows went up. "This is quite a reversal of opinion, Cassandra."

"That girl is a poor reflection of the standards of Xavier, sir, but her drawings and sketches are exemplary. They are outstanding, sir. Some of the best I've seen."

"Do you agree with that, Mr. Rogers?"

"Yes, sir." Woodes hesitated, then added, "I was actually thinking I might ask her to do a pencil sketch of my father. It might add a nice touch to his office in Washington."

"I believe that girl is at a crossroads, sir," Cassandra went on. "Either she ships off to some art school where she belongs, in which case she should have all the backing we can give her, or she shapes up here. Unless you plan to show her the hatch today, sir."

"Not right now, as I said," the Headmaster answered. "What's made you change your mind about Makayla Wallace, Cassandra?"

"Sir? Who says I have, sir?"

"Well, not long ago you flat-out recommended that she be dismissed. Now you say that if she leaves for a specialty school, she should go with all the backing we can give her."

"Yes, sir. If it's going to be done it might as well be done right."

"Woodes?"

"I don't really know how to help her, sir. I've tried and run clean out of ideas. But her work- she's got talent, sir. She's gifted. Not many people can make it big in the art or music world but she's one of the few. I'd bet good money on that."

"How about this," the Headmaster said thoughtfully, tapping on the vast surface of his mahogany desk with one finger. "Go to the art classroom where her artwork is stored. Pick out some of the best pieces you find. I trust your judgment. Then ask that those drawings be displayed prominently. And make sure it's shown that these were selected by the Head Boy and Head Girl."

"All right, sir."

"I think she should be given a commendation," Cassandra said. "Let's get her into an art show or two."

"That's quite generous of you," the Head commented.

Cassandra straightened her already ramrod-stiff posture. "Sir, the best thing we can do is get this girl where she's better off. If pinning a medal on her and sending her off to some art school will make her happy and get her to stop running off and just being an embarrassment, then I'll be glad to help. If this makes her calm down and grow up, that works, too."

"You always state you case plainly, Miss Marshall," the Headmaster said. "Your honesty is highly valued in this office. It is highly valued at this school."

"Sir."

Woodes cleared his throat carefully and resisted the urge to fidget with his silk school-colors necktie. It was tied in a perfect full-Windsor, he knew it was, but it was tempting to make sure it was fixed in place correctly nonetheless.

"Yes, Mr. Rogers?"

"I think the best thing that can be done is for us to offer some praise, however we do it. Makayla Wallace has promise as an artist. Great promise. I doubt she will ever be a soldier or a senator, but we don't all have to be. Maybe she's been acting out like this because she's desperate and doesn't know what else to do. It goes without saying that happy kids don't run away from school."

Cassandra snorted rudely. "Oh, Woodes, it isn't as if she wasn't given chances _already_."

"Yes, but we haven't shown her much support. Just leaving her alone when she's having this hard a time isn't good enough. The prefects have stood back and done nothing while a new student has struggled and suffered on our watch. You're gonna be leading Marines one day, Cassandra; I'm going into politics. How can we say we'll truly look out for our people if we can't uphold this school's most cherished principle?"

"And what is that, Mister Rogers?" Cassandra demanded.

"To be, rather than to seem."

Cassandra always made a big deal about the meaning of the school's Latin motto, and everyone in the room knew it. She looked like she wanted to start shouting but also knew she had no valid excuse. She grumbled and crossed her arms.

"As long as that girl stops running off, Woodes, I don't care _what _she does."

"Then you'll sign this recommendation for a Prefect's Medal? Everybody else has."

"_What_?" Cassandra barked. "How _dare_ you go behind my back and-"

"You _just said_ we ought to pin a medal on her." Woodes pulled a paper from the planner he'd carried in. "Here's the form."

Cassandra stared at him incredulously, then took the paper. She read it over, pulled out a pen, and signed it.

"There. It's unanimous, sir."

"Excellent," the Headmaster said, sounding quite pleased. "We'll see what happens next. I'll be speaking with Makayla soon. Her latest unauthorized departure requires that. The prefects have been a great help, as ever."

"It's what we're here for, sir," Woodes said.

**XX**

Josh asked Melissa if she'd go for a walk with him before classes started today, and despite the biting cold, she said yes. They each buttoned up their heavy navy blue winter coats, emblazoned with the school crest and bearing a silver prefect's badge each, pulled on their gloves, scarves and hats, and headed outside, heading for the Great Oak.

A massive oak tree that had stood on the grounds since before the school's foundation, since before the creation of the United States even, the Great Oak was a legend at Xavier Preparatory School. Married couples had met there, agreed to a first date there. Not a few marriage proposals had happened at the base of its immense trunk. The tree represented order, stability, the power of the ability to persist, to endure. It had survived fires, storms, wars and the passing of centuries.

It was fitting that Josh had honored tradition by asking Melissa on their first date at the foot of the Great Oak. Countless Xavier boys had done the same thing with girls they liked; it was said that the tree offered good luck in such nerve-wracking moments. Josh appreciated what the tree represented more than most, or liked to think that he did; after all, the unstoppable strength and unbreakable resolve of his father, Joshua Scott Marshall, Senior, was the reason the family existed, the reason why they had gone from a pair of homeless boys in the early 1970s to a powerful, well-connected, highly distinguished family in the early 2000s.

_And here_, Josh thought, _here at this place, I can become anything that I want to be. A general, admiral, Congressman, Senator, a governor, a professor or judge, President of the United States… Why not? It's all been done here. We're the Cornell of D.C.'s prep schools, one of the most selective private boarding schools in North America and the world. It costs a fortune to go here. You have to be well-connected just to get in, but once you _are_ in… the world's your oyster. It's all out there waiting for you. Why can't Makayla Wallace fit in here like Missy, and Chris, and Cassandra, and Brittany, and me- why can't she love this place like we do?_

Melissa kissed him on the cheek and gave his right hand a gentle squeeze. "So. You gonna talk to me or stay deep in thought?"

"Mm," Josh said, smiling. "Well, I like being deep in thought."

"You boys should try it more often. Especially you, Muscles."

"I thought you _liked_ my muscles."

"Oh, I'm not supposed to be won over by your charming personality?"

"Well, that, too, of course."

Melissa laughed. "So what was on your mind?"

"Just wondering why Makayla's had such a hard time here. I love this school. I've met friends who'll be with me the rest of my life. We're all smart, organized, and motivated. We're going places and we know it. This place is like a big family. Once you're in, you're in for life. There's nothing you can't do or be if you just set your sights on it and do the work."

"I don't know," Melissa sighed. "I kinda hoped she'd have a good time here like I have. It hasn't worked out well for her."

"But she can draw. She's good at it. Amazing. I had no idea she had that kinda talent."

"Maybe the Board of Governors should be introduced to her work, hmm?"

Josh considered that. "Well, Mom is coming up soon for that. The Board has their final meeting of the year just before the school closes for Christmas break."

Melissa looked at him. "Your dad's a general, your mom's on the Board of Governors, you're one of three Marshalls wearing a prefect's badge… you're staying modest for all that."

"I try." Josh hesitated. "What, thinking of my pedigree for when I meet your parents? I know they're a big deal, but, I'm good enough, right?"

_Jeez, listen to me. I'm almost pleading with her. A Marshall, pleading with anybody… it's out-of-character._

"It's just- I don't know," Melissa said, visibly troubled. "The way it's been at home, I can't say anything for sure these days. And I swear I don't know how to talk to Makayla about any of it. Whenever we do talk, we fight. Whenever she talks to Mom, they fight. And Dad, too, just about, because he's had enough at this point."

"Does your Mom ever stress you out? I mean, I know she fights with Makayla, but what's it like for you? I mean, even when, you know, it's not an armed camp."

"Mom's a hard person to satisfy," Melissa sighed. "Everything has to be the best. If I get a B in anything, Mom immediately lays into me, wanting to know why I don't have an A. Was I goofing off when I should've been studying, was I spending too much time at the gym, why didn't I talk to the teacher about bringing my grade up? And when I do get all A's, it's no big deal, because that's the bare minimum for her anyway."

"She must love you. She wouldn't have sent you here if she didn't."

"Oh, she does. I know she does. I guess she's so wrapped up in chasing after each big step in life… she just doesn't stop to really talk to me or Makayla that much. She makes sure we have the best of everything. It's not like I ever go without. But she's so busy. I don't get to talk to her much even at the best of times."

"That's a big part of why Mom and Dad sent Cass and Chris and me to boarding school right as we got to middle school. The family moves around so much, Dad especially wanted us to get a chance to grow up in one place as much as possible. You know, so we don't have to start our social life all over again every year or two. But Mom and Dad make sure we talk all the time. They're super focused, too, but it sounds like my parents remember we're all human a bit more than yours do. No offense."

"Dad's always wanting to be the nice guy, but he gets wrapped up in his work as much as Mom does half the time. And it's worse than ever now! Just yesterday or something, I get told I'm staying with Aunt Jenny for Christmas break, and Makayla's going to stay with some guy called Gibbs."

"Wait, Leroy Jethro Gibbs? NCIS senior agent? _Him_?"

"Yeah, pretty sure that's him. He was over at the house arguing with Mom and Dad. Then they got a look at some drawing Makayla did, and now they're off to stop an act of terrorism, or something. They couldn't tell me much, and Makayla's taking it all personally."

"Wait, wait- why is Makayla going to stay with Agent Gibbs? My Dad has told me about him forever. He saved Dad's life during the Gulf War. But is he some friend of your family or something?"

"No. So far as I know, my parents didn't know him at all until recently."

"My parents wouldn't leave me or my siblings with anybody unless they trusted them," Josh said. "Why would Makayla be staying with him? If it's the Gibbs I'm thinking of, he's a good man, I know he is. But you don't leave your kids with someone you _don't even know!"_

"I don't know why they did it. But maybe Mak and I will be better off spending Christmas apart."

"Maybe. This, on top of everything else… I swear I wanna help her. Will made me promise, me and Chris. We're gonna try, but it may be too late by now. She's racked up a terrible record around here. And who wants to be friends with somebody who's always flipping out and running off? I don't mean I like the way she's been treated. I just think some of it is, it _has_ to be, her fault. There's only so much the rest of us can do."

"You're arguing that she needs one more chance," Melissa said. "That's enough. Maybe she'll settle down if she catches a break somewhere in the last couple weeks here."

"So, I guess we don't get to do the big introduction this Christmas, huh?"

"Probably not. If Mom and Dad made the arrangements like this, they're probably going to be away during the break."

"I'll call you, and I'll write," Josh promised. "What if they don't like me? Do you think they'll like me? They're not _avoiding _me, right?"

Melissa laughed. "Josh, you _know_ they didn't just fabricate this whole thing so they could avoid meeting you."

"Well, I am serious about, you know, meeting them. Do they know anything about me?"

"Honestly, at this point, I'm not sure what they remember. I've told them some things, but I don't know what they heard and what they didn't."

"What would they think about me?"

"Do you think they won't like you?"

"Not everybody likes a Marine brat," Josh said fretfully. "And they might not like that my Dad's a bigshot in the Corps like he is. I mean, who knows? Your mom especially. She could do anything right now. I don't want her to take one look at me and tell me to get lost."

Melissa hesitated. "I don't know, Josh. It scares me, too."

"Yeah. I guess we gotta wait it out for now. This isn't the time to even try for introductions. But you know what? I think we're doing the right thing. I'll get some positive rumors going about Makayla, get people over to the art gallery, see if Mom and Dad don't know anybody in the art world. If Makayla's happier, things will calm down in the Wallace household, and if we can manage that, we can at least go for introductions without your parents going off the walls with stress. Hopefully."

"You wanna make nice to my little sister?" Melissa asked curiously.

"If that's what it takes. We already have things started. Kinda. She'll get a medal, she'll get some publicity for her work, yadda yadda. And we'll go from there." He paused. "I wonder if your sister knows we're dating, you know, if she told your parents already."

"She probably knows," Melissa allowed, "although I'd still say it's none of her business anyway. But, Josh, if Mom and Dad knew we were dating, like, if they knew who you were and everything, I'd know. Positive or negative, they'd have lots to say about it. Mom would probably wanna interrogate you on your family history, everything about your parents, that kinda stuff. And Dad would wanna see what you know about his favorite topics."

"Which are?"

"He loves legal stuff, for one thing. It just plain fascinates him."

"I'm always up for a good debate about McColloch v. Maryland."

"And then he'd also wanna ask you about- hey, that's Makayla. Yeah, that's her."

Josh turned and looked across The Yard at the red-haired girl and the tough-looking old man she was with. Behind them was an old Ford pickup truck. The man's stride was purposeful, his gaze focused. He was not as lean or mean as he might have been decades ago, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.

"That must be Gibbs," Josh said.

"I guess so."

Unsure of what to do, Josh went still. He and Melissa had been circling the Great Oak and now stood almost directly in front of it. They were out in the open and could easily be seen, just as they had spotted Makayla and Gibbs.

"Josh, you okay?" Melissa asked.

"I hope he's not here to bother you," Josh said with sudden suspicion. "I don't care if your parents left your sister with him. He hasn't got the right to barge into other people's affairs. Least of all yours."

"Or yours."

Josh gave a sharp bark of laughter. "My Dad told me Gibbs is a good man, and I believe him. But you'd have to be an idiot to mess with my family's affairs. The minute Mom and Dad hear about it…" Josh shook his head. "Listen. Honorable or not, if that man bothers you, about _anything_, I wanna know about it. Okay? I won't let anyone hassle you, Missy. You have the right to some privacy. Gibbs is a man of honor but he'll be making a mistake if he crosses any of us. Our parents pay too much for us to get harassed by random outsiders."

"Well, he's not completely random."

"Okay, okay. You know what I mean, though, right, Missy? I just don't want Gibbs walking up and bothering you about stuff. I'm probably worried for nothing but- yeah. I just don't want him bothering you."

"I doubt he'll do that," Melissa said. "He's probably too busy being buddies with Makayla. That's fine. She needs _someone_ to be her friend, 'cause she sure hasn't got too many around here."

"It's funny. I just asked Dad if we could meet Gibbs, you know, my siblings and I, and here he is. I have no idea what he's here for at all. As long as it's not to bother you or me, though, I could care less. Dad will set something up so my family can meet him later. Hopefully."

"How about we quietly go back inside?"

"Oh, not noisily?"

"They probably haven't seen us, so let's go."

"Sure. Wanna have a little 'talk' before we get to 1st Period?"

"I knew those lips of yours were good for something besides talking."

Josh laughed again, louder than he meant to, but he didn't much care if that got him noticed or not. He was no longer paying attention to Makayla or to Gibbs. They weren't his concern right now. He had eyes for Missy, and Missy alone, as they resumed their walk and headed around the Great Oak and toward the side door they'd come from.

"After you, m'lady," Josh said, bowing elegantly.

"Why thank you," Melissa said.

"Hey, Missy," Josh said as he pulled the door closed behind him.

"Hm?"

"I'm crazy about you. You know that, right?"

"No, you're just plain crazy."

"And I don't know any better."

**XX**

Chris half-jogged down several steps, taking them one, almost two at a time. He wasn't late for his meeting with the Director of Admissions, but he was cutting it close. As if to further prove he'd gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Chris' blazer slipped loose from it's upper button and his necktie went flapping around, indicating he'd forgotten his damn tie clip. Great.

_But what kind of gentleman doesn't carry a spare? Not me. I got one right here._

The tie clip was out and secured in seconds, and Chris continued walking as he reached for his blazer to button it back in place. Momentarily distracted, he almost walked into some tough-looking old guy and the young girl he had with him.

Chris had been raised as a gentlemen above all else. His parents, Mom especially, never could abide rudeness. So although he was surprised to see these people and pressed for time, Chris smiled and automatically reached out to shake hands as he gave the stranger his full attention.

"Excuse me, sir, good morning. Welcome to Xavier Preparatory School. My name's Chris. Is there anything I can help with, anyone you're trying to find?"

The old man gave Chris a brief, firm handshake, and as their eyes met Chris tried to take some measure of the newcomer. He was ex-military, that was for sure; those were marksman's eyes, the ever-vigilant eyes of someone who knew all too well that freedom came with a price. And whatever he did for a living now, even if he was retired, he had aged, but not weakened. Chris was a gifted and fearless combatant in judo, boxing, and Krav Maga, but he would have bet this old warrior could have faced him on equal terms.

"I'm here to speak with the Headmaster," the man said. Soft-spoken, polite, but firm. Yes, definitely an old warrior.

Chris noticed Makayla Wallace just then, and for a moment he diverted his gaze, looking at her questioningly. Then he nodded to the old warrior. "He'll be in his office, sir, this time of the morning. It's just down the hall here behind me." He turned around, walked back up a couple stairs, motioned down the hallway leading to the Head's office. "Just down there, sir."

"Thank you. What was your name, son?"

"Chris. Christian Marshall, sir."

For just an instant, something changed in the old warrior's stony expression; it was almost like he'd responded to the name. Maybe it meant something to him. Maybe the old bear's son had served under Dad in the Corps at some point. Or something. At any rate, it didn't mean anything to Chris, though he gave nothing away. He didn't know who this man was and quite respectfully did not care. Lots of unfamiliar people came and went from this school all the time. Chris was always watching, always looking for signs of danger, of ill intent, but so long as he found none he was unfailingly polite, if a little disinterested.

"I appreciate the courtesy, Chris."

"Ahh, don't mention it, sir," Chris said, flashing one of his brilliant smiles as he slipped back into his casual frat-boy lingo. _Next thing I'll start calling him 'brah' and saying 'dog' every other word._ Chris looked curiously at Makayla Wallace again, thought of asking the old warrior if he was her granddad or something, but decided against it. That was really none of his business, and he had other places to be. "Glad I could help," Chris added. "Have a good day, sir."

Then Chris turned and left, pleased to have done his good deed for the day. As he crossed the cavernous space of the Grand Hallway, often called just "The Grand," Chris thought of Makayla Wallace and those drawings of hers. She wasn't half bad at that stuff, not bad at all.

Chris had studied the piano since he was a child; he had played Beethoven for audiences so well some of his viewers had cried. He knew what the results of hard, hard work looked like, what artistic talent looked like. His brother was more like Cassandra than he knew; a warrior interested in little beyond the profession of arms. Chris understood an artist's mindset better than his twin brother and elder sister. He had missed how sincere Makayla Wallace was about that, and had all but provoked Josh into starting that fight with Cassandra. An open breach in the armor of House Marshall had been shown to the world, even if it were in the company of close friends, and all so Chris could soothe his troubled conscience. He knew he would have to be more thoughtful next time.

_At least Makayla Wallace might be finally catching a break now,_ Chris thought. _Assuming the Head isn't planning on showing her the hatch after this last run off campus. At least the prefects are finally doing more than stand there and watch. We should've known that wasn't good enough._

* * *

**XX**

* * *

**A/N: 11-8-2019.**

**Updated: 11-9-2019.**

**This chapter was supposed to be posted on 11-7-2019, but then I decided to try out being a fool for one crucial second and told Word to delete my unsaved files after restarting, as I said at the start of this chapter. I was pretty burned out once I finally calmed down, so I set the scaffolding back up, took down some notes on the 7 pages I deleted, and left it for the next day. That's the next lesson I have to offer here, for anyone who may be interested. If you accidentally delete your work, there may be scenarios where nothing you can do can bring it back. In those situations, take a deep breath, let it out, jot down some notes on what you can remember of the lost work, and then get back to it tomorrow. Don't try to rewrite the whole thing in a rage. That is not a state known for producing superb writing.**

**Josh S. Marshall, Junior was a focal point of the latter part of this chapter. I knew from "Adjustments" Chapter 17 that Gibbs and Makayla would be going to Xavier soon. Josh isn't actually feeling unfriendly or hostile towards Gibbs, whom he has been told about since he was a child, but he is a little put off by this sudden and unexpected appearance. He also is unhappy that Melissa is now separated from her parents, throwing things in the Wallace home off-balance even more. I think he's also feeling protective of Melissa.**

**Josh Jr. would not want to come into conflict with a man he's been taught to admire, but he would get in the way quite willingly if Gibbs tried to talk to Melissa. Right or wrong, he feels he has a right and duty to protect her. He may also come off as arrogant, but he's an adolescent born to a great deal of money and privilege, attending a highly elite prep school. A degree of arrogance is likely to come with the territory, especially at that age. And, if I had to add anything else, I'd say Josh Jr. is also talking tough a little bit regarding the idea of Gibbs unexpectedly talking to Melissa. He wants to be a good boyfriend and so he's saying "He's not so tough. I can handle him if I have to."**

**I added the scene with Chris T. Marshall unknowingly meeting Gibbs after looking over the chapter, and notifying Jenny wrens that I had posted it. I hope that doesn't conflict with any of her plans for Chapter 18 of "Adjustments", and that it is a worthy addition to Chapter 3 of my story the way I think it is. I like how it gives a closer POV look at Josh Jr.'s twin brother. Despite the extensive similarities between them, the two boys are, ultimately, distinct and unique from each other. They are closely bonded, but they are not merely two copies of the same person.**

**Just as a brief note, the commendation that the prefects are able to issue does have to get approval from the Headmaster or someone similarly high up in the XPS chain of command. That is, however, generally a formality, as a great deal of mutual respect and trust has existed between school administration and the prefects since the beginning. As for how a Prefect's Medal would look, I'd say the ribbon and metal disc suspended beneath it would both be based off the general dimensions of a British civilian or military decoration. I would expect these medals are given out twice a year, at the end of the fall semester and at the end of the spring semester, to recognize special achievements during each term. They could also be given on specific occasions during the semester if that is warranted.**

**If anyone has any questions, comments, or if anyone has seen proofreading mistakes in this chapter, please let me know. Errors are best pointed out in a PM.**

**Reviews are welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

**XX**

* * *

Woodes Rogers had arranged for a special reception for the Board of Governors when they came to the school for a meeting today. Following an old tradition of singing the hymn of a visiting dignitary's alma mater (when there was time and opportunity), Woodes called for the Xavier Boys' Choir to meet him in the Governors' Room before the Governors themselves got there.

The boys all knew their parts, knew when and how to start, so just as the heavy, oak-paneled doors opened and the men and women of the Board entered the room, the twenty-four boys, ranging from 8th grade to 12th, effortlessly lifted their voices in song.

_Fair Harvard! we join in thy Jubilee throng,  
And with blessings surrender thee o'er  
By these Festival-rites, from the Age that is past,  
To the Age that is waiting before.  
O Relic and Type of our ancestors' worth,  
That hast long kept their memory warm,  
First flow'r of their wilderness! Star of their night!  
Calm rising thro' change and thro' storm._

_Farewell! be thy destinies onward and bright!  
To thy children the lesson still give,  
With freedom to think, and with patience to bear,  
And for Right ever bravely to live.  
Let not moss-covered Error moor thee at its side,  
As the world on Truth's current glides by,  
Be the herald of Light, and the bearer of Love,  
Till the stock of the Puritans die._

The Governors were pleased and impressed, of course, and they clapped appreciatively as the choirboys bowed and filed out of the room. Woodes then assumed his post at the front of the room, glancing briefly at his notes on the lectern, and the PowerPoint title slide he had projected up on the screen. The school crest looked suitably elegant and dignified, much as Woodes himself always was.

"Members of the Board of Governors," Woodes began in his clear, well-practiced voice, "I thank you for taking time out of your day to hear my proposal. The Boys' Choir volunteered to honor the alma mater many of you share, Harvard University, with her beautiful alma mater, and I think it is fitting in more ways than one. Xavier Preparatory School has always been connected to Harvard, in past, present, and future. Harvard has always found the best way forward, sought ways to improve herself, retained her soul, her traditions and values, while recognizing and acting on the ever-present need for change."

"It is that word, honored Governors, that I wish to speak to you about today. Change. Xavier Prep is the finest of the D.C. area's private schools. We have educated presidents, heads of corporations, coaches of world-class teams, star athletes, scientists, surgeons, Supreme Court judges, admirals and generals. The liberal arts have always been our strongest subjects and no one has mastered them better than the faculty of Xavier. Yet where is the glory due our arts teachers, our band directors? Why have we produced great soldiers and scholars but no great painters or pianists?"

"The fact is that we have had the chance to do so, but we have not acted on it. Moored to our honorable tradition of greatness in the liberal arts, we have allowed ourselves to remain there as the current carries the fine arts onward, taking the brightest young minds of those fields to other schools. We have offered classes, aimed to teach in these subjects for generations, yet never have we given them their due, recognized their true worth. Honored Governors, until last night I saw no special value in arts and music. Last night, I had the opportunity to view the artwork of one of the greatest young artists ever to grace these halls. To say I was shocked by the raw talent I viewed in that classroom is a gross understatement. I have never seen or so much as heard of someone that young with that much skill in my entire life."

Woodes went over to the lectern and pressed a button, finally moving to the next slide. A panorama of The Lawn came into view. Another press of the button, and now the slide showed an impeccable drawing of the Great Oak, then another, and everyone was looking at an illustration of King Hall.

"These illustrations I have selected are just a few of the many Makayla Wallace has drawn in her time here. This is her first semester with us, but already I know it won't be her last. Not if we see the untapped potential in the ranks of this great student body, recognize that we have glory yet unrealized at Xavier. Who would say that the career of a great artist cannot begin here? Honored Governors, we can- we must- change course now and forge a new fine arts program. The chance we have at this moment to write a new chapter in our long and proud history is one we cannot miss. Will it require the raising of additional funds, extensive planning and preparation in order to even begin to implement such a change? Of course it will. I do not need to inform the Board of Governors of that. But will the work, the effort, the trouble be completely and truly worth it?"

"It will, ladies and gentlemen. It will be worth everything. Makayla Wallace's immense talent has already proven that, and will continue to do so in the days to come. When work of this caliber is viewed in galleries, judged in competitions, and held up for the world to see, no one will doubt that the very best fine arts students can find their place here at Xavier. Members of the Board, thank you for your time. Please, consider what I have said. Good afternoon."

Woodes was about ready to fall over as he ended his speech; he looked like a million dollars but he felt like a sweaty, nervous kid. But Dad would have been proud of the way the Board applauded him, the way they all invited to sit with them and talk further. Woodes had prepared for that, too; he brought several folders with him and distributed some handy documents an aide had prepared, and used those to support his talking points and guide the discussion.

Senator Woodes Rogers, III was renowned for his ability to get things done in Washington. Democrat or Republican, few doubted his intellect, his charisma, or his capacity for flexibility and adaptability while remaining true to his principles. He was also a shameless flatterer and opportunist. He could spend five to ten years ignoring someone or something and then charge in the other direction as if he had been planning that all his life. He sensed opportunity like sharks smelled blood, and he moved faster than any shark in taking advantage of it.

Woodes had studied Dad's trade carefully for so many years. Now, at long last, sitting in this room and talking with the Board of Governors like he was their equal, Woodes felt the thrill of victory. He had waited so long to catch some snappy opportunity, jump on it, and run with it as far as he could go. Now his moment was finally here.

And there would be no stopping that Prefect's Medal now. Makayla Wallace was going to be polished until she looked like the model student Woodes needed her to be. Shine her up in all the right places and stick with it, treat her like a success, and pretty soon, Woodes knew, Makayla Wallace might just start believing the story herself.

**XX**

As classes let out for lunch, Josh Marshall, Junior, quickly exited the classroom hand-in-hand with his girlfriend, Melissa Wallace. He had been a little on edge today, ever since Chris had mentioned seeing some old guy walking in with Makayla, and then the two of them figured out it was Gibbs. Josh had been raised since birth to be articulate and polite, but he also had a strong sense of family, of clan. He didn't like outsiders going where they didn't belong, and that great, brave man was starting to make Josh nervous.

_My mother's on the Board, my father's a general, I'm a prefect and so are my brother and big sister. I should be untouchable. Instead I just have more social, academic, and athletic obligations than I know what to do with. And on top of all that, Gibbs is coming around. What's he doing here? This is my school._

Finding a spot with some privacy was easy enough. Josh tried the door handle for the Prefects' Council Room, found it unlocked, smiled at his good fortune and slipped inside with Melissa. They 'talked' for a few minutes without saying a word. Their prefect's badges kept clinking together, though, and finally Josh laughed aloud.

"What?" Melissa asked.

"Just these badges," Josh said. He pulled off his navy blue blazer and tossed it on a desk behind him. Even with the white dress shirt on, you could see the well-built frame Josh had spent years crafting and maintaining. Melissa noticed, and Josh noticed she noticed.

"I think dressing down a little more would be better, Mr. Prefect," Melissa suggested with a smile.

"Yes, Miss Prefect," Josh said, grinning. He loosened his necktie and unbuttoned several of the top buttons. "Better?"

"Better."

They scooted closer together again, using a hand-carved mahogany desk as usual. Josh felt like fireworks were going off in his head. Whenever he was stressed, he went to the gym, practiced soccer or running, talked to Chris or Melissa. He'd confide in Cassandra sometimes, but you could never quite tell what her mood was. Talks with his girlfriend, of course, were particularly fun, and Melissa didn't start shouting at you for interrupting her studies.

Just when Josh was thinking of disposing of the dress shirt entirely, and maybe the white t-shirt too, Melissa's phone started going off.

"Aw," Melissa muttered, breaking away. "Jeez. I thought it was off."

"Whoever it is, they can wait," Josh said casually, eager to get back to business. "C'mon. Just ignore it."

Melissa did, and things were moving right along again for all of twelve seconds.

"I better check who it is," she said distractedly, turning to pull out her cell phone.

"Ah, yeah, I guess you should," Josh said, wishing like hell Missy had left the damn thing in her room for once. She was too diligent for that, of course.

Melissa held up her phone, looked at the screen, and gave an irritated huff as she went to answer it. Josh quickly realized why.

"What do you want, Kayla?" Melissa said, sounding as bored and irked as she no doubt felt. "I'm really busy…"

"Missy!" Makayla Wallace cried. Josh heard that clearly. The rest was quieter, but that desperate, pleading tone persisted.

That got Melissa's attention.

"Makayla? What's wrong?" Melissa was sitting upright now. She stood up and took a step away from the desk. "Hey, Kayley, it's gonna be okay. Talk to me."

Josh hurriedly buttoned his shirt back up, got himself back in uniform, and then did the same for Melissa without getting in her way. Fun and leisure was entirely forgotten. An entire lifetime's worth of training, breeding and the keen Marshall warrior instincts were kicking in. Something was going on.

"Slow down, Kayla, I can't understand you."

Briefly, Josh paused to wonder just what was going on, but he quickly decided it didn't matter. If some event had happened that was so serious that Makayla decided to call her sister, it had to be an emergency. The two of them didn't exactly hang around all day. They had different lives, different aspirations, and spent very little time together, at home or here at Xavier. No, Makayla had called because she had no other choice, because she was that desperate. That was all Josh needed to know.

Josh shot off a couple of quick text messages. One was to his twin brother Chris, another to Woodes Rogers. He considered whether he ought to text message his big sister. She might bite his head off for bothering her at the wrong time, or for not bothering her in an emergency. Josh went ahead and sent the text message, just saying something was up with Makayla Wallace and it seemed serious.

_Sup?_ Chris answered.

_Where r u?_ Josh typed out.

_Burgertown_, Chris answered. _Cass was suspicious about that old POS truck so she followed it. On some side road now. The truck is. We're at Burgertown with Lukas. He's practicing his English._

_I think we've got a problem_, Josh wrote.

_What's going on?_

_Something with Makayla Wallace._

_Serious?_

_Yes. I think so._

"Riley?" Melissa was saying. "Why'd he wreck your phone?"

Melissa covered the phone with her hand. She looked around as Alan Parks, Emily Wright, and Bradley Campbell hurried into the room. Moments later, Woodes Rogers showed up, accompanied by Danny Grunfeld, an 8th grader who was currently serving as his personal aide.

"What's going on?" Woodes demanded. "What's up?"

"My sister's in some kind of trouble," Melissa answered.

"We don't know what, but it sounds rough," Josh said, trying to avoid using the word bad.

"All right. She's off campus," Woodes said.

"Can we help somehow?" Emily asked.

"Just talk to Makayla," Josh said to Melissa. "Focus on that right now."

"Hey, Kayla, listen to me, okay? Are you listening?" A pause. "Okay, now, can you check Riley's pulse? Count how many beats you get in 30 seconds for me…"

Josh turned to Melissa, looked at her in confusion. He mouthed at her, _Who is Riley?_

Melissa impatiently waved him off, mouthed back, _Later._

Josh nodded. Priorities.

"Just do it. I'm calling Aunt Jenny on another line, okay?"

Ah, yes, her, Josh thought with vague amusement. That battleship. Whatever the problem is, I bet the Director of NCIS can handle it.

Makayla was talking again; she was definitely on the verge of total panic. Dad's words came back to Josh as he listened to that badly frightened, high-pitched tone of voice: "Don't panic. Don't ever panic, no matter how bad things get. It doesn't help. Focus on solving the problem."

"Stop it, Makayla!" Melissa interrupted. "Try on his neck. Right beside his Adam's apple. Tell me when you find it."

Makayla said something else after a moment, sounding calmer this time.

"Okay, good; now hold your fingers there and count every beat every beat for 30 seconds until I say stop. Begin now."

_Who in hell is Riley? Who is this motherfucker?_ Josh wanted to shout. But he didn't say it. He didn't even consider saying it. Dad would have shoved that bullshit aside, yelled at Josh for wasting time on superfluous things. Fix the problem, solve it, get the mission done. You don't need to know who someone is to figure out they need your help.

After the thirty seconds elapsed, Makayla spoke again, and Melissa nodded.

"Okay, good. His pulse is slow but not terrible. Would you say he's fairly physically fit?" A pause. "Okay, good," Melissa said again. "My health teacher said that lots of athletes have pulse rates under 40. Riley's is just above that so that's a good thing. He's probably in shock. Can you cover him up with anything? Or run the heat to the car… try and keep him warm."

Melissa paused, then said, "Kayla… there's a lot of static… how many bars do you have?" More from Makayla; she was sounding panicked again. Great. "Do you know if your GPS is activated? I dunno. Dad set up our phones. Look, Kayla, I can't get through to Aunt Jenny. What's Agent Gibbs' number?"

There was a long pause. Melissa finally said, "I'll figure it out, Kayla. Stay where you are. Don't worry."

Then the most beautiful girl in the world looked up at Josh from her phone, visibly worried. She drove him crazy. Even in a crisis- perhaps especially in a crisis- he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

"Josh, the line's dead. I tried calling back but it's going straight to voicemail."

"I know," Josh said quickly. He got out his own phone and called Dad's personal cell phone. He's been ordered to never, ever call it during business hours during the week unless it was an emergency, but he was fairly sure this qualified. In any event, he'd explain himself later. Dad would help him now if he knew a crisis was underway.

"Josh," Dad grunted after only a moment. "This better be good."

"Dad, I need Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs' personal cell phone number and I need it now."

"What the hell's going on?"

"Sir, I'll tell you everything later. Please. Melissa's sister is in some kind of trouble. It's serious and we're tryi-"

"Stand by."

"Yes, sir."

The line went dead.

Josh looked down at his phone. "This better be that serious," he said. "Dad will kill me if I end up wasting his time."

"It's that serious," Melissa said. "She's never called me like this before. Never."

As Josh started to reply, his phone began buzzing again. He quickly answered with a crisp "Yes, sir."

Dad read off the number Josh had asked for, and Josh instantly memorized it. He thanked his father and got off the phone. He would be called on the mat later, but not now. Dad wasn't foolish enough to waste time on that stuff in the middle of a situation. He'd raised his children to be smart and think fast, and he trusted them to do the right thing when it counted most.

"You got the number?" Melissa asked, looking at Josh hopefully.

"Yes." Josh told her, then carefully said it again as she fumbled with the keypad on her phone.

Melissa made the call, and after a few moments Josh heard an older man answer.

_Good God_, he thought faintly. _It's the man who saved Dad's life. He's the reason I got to grow up knowing my Dad. If Agent Gibbs hadn't pulled Dad out of that burning tank… _

Josh shivered and stopped thinking about that. He didn't want to, and it wasn't useful right now.

"Agent Gibbs?" Melissa asked. "No, it's Melissa, Makyala's sister…"

Agent Gibbs said something. It sounded like a question.

"Makayla called me, Agent Gibbs. She's in trouble," Melissa blurted; her voice quaked and plainly revealed her distress. She was breathing hard, starting to panic.

"Missy," Josh said carefully, looking at her as he controlled his voice. "Calm down. Speak clearly."

Melissa nodded, showing she understood. Josh nodded, too, and stepped back to let her focus on the call.

"I don't know where she is. Her phone cut us off, and when I tried to call back it went directly to her voicemail. Her friend, Riley, was in a fight or something and I think he's hurt badly. He lost consciousness and his pulse is very slow.

Another question from Gibbs.

Melissa shot Josh a desperate look, and Josh's stomach lurched again. He would have rather faced the worst kind of danger himself than be stuck here like this, just some bystander. But he kept a grip on his own calm with both hands and met Melissa's eyes steadily.

"Don't worry," Josh said soothingly. "Everything's gonna be all right."

"I don't know exactly. She said Riley damaged it but she was really upset, so it was hard to make out what she was saying. Her phone kept cutting in and out. Okay."

Melissa lowered the phone. "He said he's gotta make another call."

"Okay," Josh said. He considered that. "Better listen closely. He could be back any second."

And sure enough, it wasn't more than a minute before the older man was speaking to Melissa again.

"No," Melissa answered him, "I couldn't get a hold of her. I didn't want to leave messages that would freak her out." A pause. "On campus, in the dorms… well, now I'm in the common room but I'm staying in my dorm. Yes- yes, all right. Thank you."

The moment Melissa hung up, the growing crowd of Prefects started asking questions, but Josh held up a hand for silence. "Melissa," he said, "it's just a matter of time now. Everything's gonna be okay."

Melissa looked at him, started to speak, then gave it up and started crying instead. Josh embraced her, stroking her flowing hair, praying that he wasn't going to wind up a liar.

Then his phone started going off. It wouldn't stop, even when Josh fervently wished it would. When he finally looked at it, though, he wished he hadn't waited so long.

**XX**

_20 minutes earlier_

Cassandra Marshall had a school regulations briefing, a hallway pass policy update briefing, and a end-of-term travel briefing all scheduled for the same 45-minute block today and she wanted to know just who the hell had decided to dump that on top of her daily running and soccer practice at the indoor track and field. Who had thought of that schedule? Who approved it? Cassandra was pissed off, and when she got pissed off, she wanted someone to pay. Not just someone- the one responsible.

It would have been nice to pin it on somebody she didn't like very much, like Makayla Wallace, but Cassandra was taking it light with that girl right now. She didn't want to fight World War III with her brothers over it, tempting as they were making it, and she despised arbitrary and unethical behavior. No, that wasn't a solution here. And besides, Makayla Wallace wasn't nearly organized or high-ranking enough to be involved in setting the Head Girl's afterschool schedule, let alone mess it up.

"Cass-and-rah," Lukas said again, hurrying along beside her. "Ve kan vorry about zis later, it is an oversight, an- a mistake, yes?"

Whenever Lukas got stressed, his accent came back. Right now, he was spooked by his girlfriend's fury and worried that he might not get to have any fun tonight, so his accent was pretty damned loud indeed.

"Lukas, I'm- I know it was somebody's mistake somewhere. It's probably not a student, though, so I can't do anything. Not right now, anyway."

"Vood you like to-"

"One thing at a time," Cassandra said. She caught sight of her brother Chris and waved him over. "Come on, let's get outside. We can go get something from Burgertown and bring back lunch for the other Prefects."

Chris nodded. "Okay. Sounds good."

Students, especially younger ones, hurried to get out of Cassandra's way as she strode toward the front doors. Cassandra barely noticed. She was already thinking of how she'd untangle her afternoon schedule and move on with her day. It was an inconvenience, sure, but she'd dealt with them before. No Marshall could be stopped by any form of adversity, only briefly slowed down.

As she headed out onto the Lawn, Cassandra saw a good number of "The Boys" and "The Girls" were killing time out here as usual. She personally didn't care about this social-ladder nonsense, but she knew most everyone else did, so she headed that way. While Chris and Lukas did most of the talking and nearly all of the listening, Cassandra noticed that old Ford pickup truck was back. Soon enough, so did everyone else.

"Oh, no," someone said, almost in awe. "Not that _thing_. Not again."

"We're following it," Cassandra said to Lukas and Chris, keeping her voice low. As the truck came to a stop, she saw Makayla Wallace hurry over to it and get in. Yes, it was about time someone did something. Cassandra separated from the crowd she was with and headed for the student parking lot.

"What're we following that truck for?" Chris asked as he strode alongside her.

"To learn something," Cassandra said impatiently. "If that guy, whoever he is, is doing anything he shouldn't be, he'll be sorry. If Makayla's a party to it, she'll be sorry. And regardless I wanna know where they're going. Something. This is ridiculous."

"Vill ve still get our food?" Lukas asked hopefully.

"We'll tail them and then go get our food once we know something," Cassandra told him. She got out her keys as she reached the enormous, chrome-laden, cream-and-ivory Plymouth Fury she owned.

As she pulled open the driver's door and unlocked the car for Lukas and Chris, Cassandra frowned at the vulgar squealing of tires as the old gray pickup drove off. Someone didn't understand how things were done at Xavier Preparatory School, all right. Cassandra pulled the heavy driver's door shut, keyed the ignition, and started backing out almost immediately after the Golden Commando V8 kicked over with a satisfying growl.

If needed, Cassandra knew, this car could move like the rocket ship it was supposed to be, according to the styling and culture of its time. The V8 it had was bigger, better, faster and more powerful than anything some 1990s Ford F-series could offer.

Naturally, it didn't come to that. The Plymouth effortlessly accelerated into traffic as Cassandra turned right, same as the Ford had done. She kept a good distance back, aware that she only needed to keep the Ford in sight. Neither of the boys in the car questioned her decision to do this, and that made sense. Cassandra Marshall's will was rarely questioned at all, by anyone.

**XX**

After some ten or fifteen minutes of following the Ford pickup through traffic, Cassandra saw what she was looking for. The gray truck turned off the main road just past an intersection, heading off into a forest down a two-lane road that had seen better days.

Like that lousy truck itself, Cassandra though. She made to turn the massive Plymouth left and follow the truck, but ultimately decided against it.

"O'Connell Street," Cassandra said, half to herself. "They turned off onto O'Connell Street."

"So, does this mean we can go get our food, now?" Chris asked.

"The mission comes first," Cassandra reminded her brother.

"Yes, and right now, I'd love it if the mission was for us to go get some food!"

"It would be beneficial for my morale," Lukas chimed in.

"All right," Cassandra said with an exaggerated sigh. "On to Burgertown."

"Yaaaay!" Lukas cried out. "I love Burgertown!

**XX**

The long, elegant-looking Plymouth made quite a sight as it pulled into a space just big enough for it outside Burgertown. Heads turned, both because of the car's immaculate condition, its seven hundred pounds of chrome, and the distinctive uniforms of the Xavier Preparatory School worn by its three occupants.

A few teenage boys practically crashed into each other as they got up from their table to get a better look at Cassandra, whose normally-stern expression deepened into a frown. In an uncharacteristically open gesture of affection, Cassandra took Lukas' hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Surprised and touched, Lukas looked at her and squeezed back as Chris held open the door for them. The four teenagers noticed all this and sat back down, visibly jealous and disappointed.

Chris found a seat and fidgeted with his necktie. He considered opening his blazer up, loosening the necktie a bit, and generally just sprawling out in the booth, but thought better of it. He didn't need another of Cassandra's stern lectures today.

She had already cornered him and Josh separately and told them off for openly arguing with her during a Prefects' Council. That went against what Mom and Dad had taught their children about total and uncompromising loyalty to the family. You never argued or disagreed in public with another member of the family. You never let the outside world see even the smallest dislike or disagreement. Open and furious argument was unacceptable, no matter the reason.

William had technically started all this by telling Josh and Chris that they had to take action, to step up for the troubled Makayla Wallace instead of continuing to stand by and do nothing. Josh and Chris had probably gotten rather overzealous about doing what he wanted, however, and so they'd provoked Cassandra's fearsome wrath and worse, publicly argued and even insulted their big sister. The motive may have been just, but Chris knew that such an occurrence could not be repeated. Not if he didn't want Cassandra to put a boot up his ass one day soon.

"Hey, so, what do you want?" Cassandra asked, standing over Chris. "Lukas is gonna order. He needs to practice his English, he says."

"I really do," Lukas agreed, coming up beside her.

"Uh, gimme a pair of Double Stackers, and- nah, just do a Number Nine combo. And one of those Butterfinger pies they got."

"All right," Cassandra said. She frowned at him. "Don't get too casual, Chris. We're in uniform."

Chris sat up, silently cursing himself for not watching his posture. He was an Xavier Prep student, a school prefect, and a Marshall. Cassandra was right to correct him for getting lax.

"Better," Cassandra said. Then she smiled and winked, leaving a stunned Chris to stare after her as she took her boyfriend over to the counter to order.

Just as Chris was thinking of sending a text message to Josh to tell him that Cass had just done her second or third smile of 2005, Josh sent him a text message instead. Chris casually responded, then grew more alert as Josh indicated some kind of problem had arisen with Makayla Wallace. Chris sent a text message detailing how Cassandra had decided to tail the Ford and how they'd seen it go down O'Connell Street, probably headed for that abandoned parking lot that was such a popular make-out spot for local teens with cars during the summer. Chris knew the spot well, having been there more than once himself.

Josh didn't respond, though, for some reason or another. Chris sent another text message indicating he would be eating but would have his phone, and to call if anything else came up. Then he started text messaging his girlfriend, Lauren Kusinis, heiress to a substantial fashion industry fortune. Her grandfather was the namesake of the magnificent Kusinis Towers in New York and her father ran a small corporate empire both from there and from his satellite offices in Washington. A fine and prestigious family, indeed, one that would add wealth, prestige and standing to the Marshall name if Chris was successful in courting her.

None of the Marshall children liked to admit it, but they all knew they weren't really old money. Dad had built the family up from nothing. Unlike most of their peers, the Marshall children had no generations of fine breeding to boast of, no centuries-old traditions and heirlooms. They had learned good manners and honorable conduct from birth thanks to Mom and Dad, but they nonetheless were nouveau riche and guarded that secret carefully. They didn't lie to their peers, not exactly, but they did avoid the topic except among close friends. Others only knew how accomplished the Marshalls were, how wealthy and connected the family was.

It would have been embarrassing to say the last to have it come out that their father had grown up as an impoverished street rat, an urchin, a runaway. Chris had only just recently been told the story of his own name, of how and why he came to be named after his uncle, Christian Scott Marshall. Dad had been the poorest kind of poor from his birth in 1960 until his adoption by Grandpa Marshall, the old Sergeant Major, in 1974. Dad had run away from his parents' run-down apartment and lived on the streets with little Chris for four whole years.

To this day, Chris didn't know how Dad had done it. The man was utterly fearless, the very definition of a hero. Rather than be broken by his experiences, as many understandably would have been, Dad had grown tougher and tougher. He held on and fought for a better life with everything he had. He never gave up. He never backed down from a fight worth fighting. He lived by a strict code of honor and expected his kids to do the same. It was a lot to live up to, being a Marshall, but Chris knew he could do it. Small acts like making your bed and arriving everywhere on time would lead to bigger victories down the road; that was where you had to start, after all. _Sic Parvis Magna_.

Someone poked Chris in the head with a plastic tray.

"Wake up, you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Chris said instinctively, looking up as a grinning Lukas poked him again.

"When will you the food be eating?" Lukas asked. "When you are with the sleeping finished, yes?"

"Yes," Chris agreed, scowling a little. "Verbs don't come at the end of a sentence in English, Lukas."

"I know," Lukas said. "But I have the food, so, I speak in the grammar I know best. Yes?"

"How on Earth does holding a tray of food-"

"Just scoot over, Chris," Cassandra said, walking over and effortlessly pushing her brother further into the booth.

"Aw, thanks," Chris said. "I can feel the love. Literally."

"Yeah. Well, be happy and eat your food. In twenty minutes we're getting the food the others asked for and we're going."

Twenty minutes passed surprisingly quick, especially with Lukas chattering excitedly about Danny and the Juniors, Elvis Presley, Ritchie Valens, and half a dozen other 1950's singers and groups that he was fond of. Lukas was also discovering modern American rock music thanks to Bradley Campbell buying him two Sum 41 CDs over the summer. Chris was privately curious as to whether Lukas would become equally obsessed with 1990's and 2000's rock bands and 1950's music, or if he'd end up liking one or the other more.

Chris was still thinking about this as he casually followed his sister and her boyfriend out the door. At least he was until Cassandra answered her phone, spoke a few terse words Chris didn't catch, and then grabbed him by his collar and practically threw him into the back of her Plymouth.

"Ah!" Chris cried, mostly just out of surprise, but also because he'd banged his left knee on the door at some point going in. "Cass, what the- what was that for?"

Lukas tumbled in through the open driver's door then, and a second after that, Cassandra was behind the wheel. The hot engine caught instantly and Cass shifted right afterward. Chris was hurled into the back of the front row bench seat as Cassandra floored it, causing no small amount of tire squealing as she turned and sped out of the parking lot. The Plymouth's long rear end bounced, then swung out as the Fury fishtailed in a sharp turn.

"Cass, what's going on?" Chris asked, feeling worried now.

"Makayla Wallace is in some deep shit," Cassandra called out. "Some guy called Riley picked her up in that truck, and now, now I don't know. Melissa said somebody needs to get Riley to the hospital. I fuckin' knew that girl shouldn't have left campus like that! She's serving detentions for the rest of term, anyway, what the hell is she doing leaving?"

They were speeding for sure, flying through traffic as Cassandra fought to get back to O'Connell Street. That had to be where they were headed. Chris got out his phone, hurriedly buckled himself into his seat. Up front, Lukas did the same for himself and Cassandra.

"Cass, someone should fucking call 911, can't we- why do we have to go do this?"

"Someone has to get there and hold it down until first responders can arrive!" Cassandra half-shouted. "Might as well be us!"

"Okay, well, can I still call-"

"Yes!"

Chris dialed 9-1-1- with shaking fingers, then put the phone to his ear.

"911, what is your emergency?" a woman answered.

"I need an ambulance down O'Connell Street, right off Smithfield Avenue!"

"That was O'Connell Street?"

"Yes!"

"Can you tell me what's going on?"

"A girl from my school and this guy she knows, they got stuck down O'Connell Street for some reason. The girl, she's okay, I think, but the guy is hurt. He was in a fight or something. He's knocked out."

"And your name, sir?"

"I'm Chris Marshall. My sister's driving us to O'Connell Street right now, and we're gonna-"

"_Ach was scheisse_!" Lukas shouted suddenly. As Cassandra was turning left toward O'Connell Street, a dump truck ran a red light and sped into the intersection, blaring its air horn. The trucker attempted to swerve right just as Cassandra slammed the pedal to the floor, trying to get away. The Plymouth's engine screamed, but it was too late. Chris's entire world went sideways and time seemed to stand still as the dump truck hit the Fury just ahead of the passenger compartment.

What happened next was like the end of the world. Chris' phone flew clear out of his hand. He bashed his head against the rear right pillar once, twice, three times. Thinking fast, he tried to tuck himself in, make himself smaller and more stationary, but his head whacked against the pillar yet again and Chris saw stars.

Driven by the force of a runaway dump truck, the Plymouth continued to roll. Safety glass shattered and sprayed everywhere like shrapnel. Metal bent, tore, crashed and screeched. With one final, almighty bang, the Fury landed on its roof on the far side of the intersection, at the base of a pine tree at the corner of the intersection where Smithfield Avenue met with O'Connell Street.

_Am I alive?_

Chris blinked and tried to move, only to find he was pinned in place, upside down thanks to his seat belt. He checked his right leg for his knife, felt relief as he found it still there. Chris pulled the weapon out, snapped it open with practiced ease, and used the featured serrated edge to cut away at the seat belt. After a few moments of hard work, Chris hit the interior roof of the car in a heap.

"Cass!" Chris called. "Lukas!"

The two teens up front didn't answer him. Chris looked and found them hanging limply, upside down like he had been. A quick check and Chris felt a rush of relief; they both were alive. Their pulses were pretty rough, but that was to be expected. Chris listened and heard dripping fluid, the hiss of a breached radiator. He could smell gasoline, hear voices and shouts.

Acting quickly, Chris crawled forward and put a hand up against his sister's chest, then sawed at the seatbelt with his free hand. Once Cassandra came down, Chris gently caught her, grateful that he had invested so much time in bulking up at the gym all these years. The driver's door had fallen open at some point, so Chris squirmed and wrestled until he got out, then stood.

Or tried to stand. White-hot agony hit him like a gunshot, and Chris screamed and collapsed. He'd messed up his ankle or something in the crash. But the mission came first, and right now, the mission was saving lives. Chris gritted his teeth, gave himself a moment, then forced himself to stand. He nearly blacked out from the pain, especially once he put his arms under Cassandra's and started to haul her away from the car, but he made it. Once she was at a safe distance, Chris turned, collapsed again, then sprang up and hobbled towards the car.

The pain was unbearable. Chris fell two more times before he made it to the Plymouth, which was barely recognizable. He landed in puddled gasoline as he finally got back to the driver's door and without any hesitation crawled back inside. Chris worked on the belt, cut Lukas loose, then grabbed him and strained to pull him out. He could hear other voices, other people, but he ignored them. Nothing mattered but getting Lukas to safety.

Chris stood up again once he had Lukas out, choked off a cry as the pain hit him like a train, then began taking steps backward, one after the other. He staggered, nearly fell, but never let his arms out from under Lukas's. He never stopped and in fact sped up as the pain got worse. Finally, just as a spark from the battery touched off the gas pooling around the car, Chris reached the spot where he'd left his sister.

By then sirens were coming close, wailing louder by the moment. Men and women Chris didn't know were coming. He checked Lukas, Cassandra, made sure they were okay. Apart from scrapes and bruises, they seemed to be. As a fire truck and ambulance arrived, Chris got up yet again.

"Get that ambulance down O'Connell Street!" Chris bellowed. He waved off some people in suits and what had to be a government-issue car and kept pointing and gesturing to the ambulance, telling them to fucking go down O'Connell, look for the gray Ford pickup, get away from me, goddamn it.

But finally, all that hobbling around on his injured ankle was too much. Chris' body shut down and he passed out, folding like a deck of cards. One of the firefighters caught him before he would have struck his head on the pavement.

**XX**

"Am I alive?"

Chris called out the second he woke up. He didn't know where he was, didn't recognize this room, and that scared him. He called it out again, asking, "Am I alive?"

"Yes, you are," a woman's voice said. Chris looked around, saw a nurse in turquoise scrubs, looked down and saw the hospital bed.

"Where am I?"

"LeClaire General Hospital," the 40-something black woman answered him. "You're safe."

"What happened?" Chris demanded, not satisfied in the least. "Where's my sister? Where's Lukas? What happened to Makayla Wallace and that guy? What-"

"Easy, easy," the nurse said. She had a hand on Chris' left shoulder now, and she gently but firmly pressed him back down until his head was against the pillow. "Stay calm. Everyone's safe. Everybody is. They got down O'Connell Street to that abandoned parking lot, and your sister and Lukas Shepard are here at the hospital, too. Only minor injuries."

"Is that- that Riley guy, is he okay? And what about Makayla Wallace?"

"They're safe, too. Everyone's going to be fine, honey. Everything's gonna be all right."

Chris tried to get up then, because he wasn't satisfied. He was determined to go see for himself. He was also scared, and he wanted his big sister, the fearless Cassandra Marshall, to tell him what was what and say whether he'd done a good job or not. Chris was frightened and he felt lost without his twin brother Josh to keep him calm, to say it's all good, man, we're okay.

Pain flared in his ankle the second Chris tried to move, and the nurse got in his way. Chris moaned and gripped his wounded leg.

"Sweetheart," the nurse said, "I never lie to anyone here. You're okay. Everyone you asked about is okay. Everything's gonna be all right."

"My Mom's on the Board of Governors," Chris blurted. "Does she know I'm here? Does my Dad know?"

"Yes. They're on their way here."

"My sister's car got wrecked, ma'am. It's trashed."

"Yes. I'm afraid so."

"Cass loves that car."

"It's replaceable. Not like people."

"What happened? A truck hit us."

"His brakes failed. They actually caught fire, is what I understand. He was trying to stop."

"Well, is he all right?"

"Yes. Some minor injuries, and the truck won't be the same. But the driver's all right. He asked about you guys. He tried to get you all out, but you did that before he could get past a jammed door."

Chris looked at his arm, saw they'd stuck him with something.

"What the hell's that?" Chris asked. "Um, sorry, ma'am."

"You're going to be getting some more morphine," the nurse explained. "I set it up and that should start any second now."

Cool, cool heavenly water hit Chris' system just then, and all of a sudden he stopped caring about virtually everything. He went totally limp, just chilled out against the pillow.

"Brah… I think I fucked up my fuckin' ankle," Chris said faintly. "I think it's jacked up, yo."

"It sure is, Chris," the nurse replied.

"I'm fuckin' tired. I feel very alone."

"I'm here. You can get some rest. You earned it."

"Can I have a free hamster?"

"I haven't got any hamsters right now, sweetheart."

"Kay. That's good." Chris managed to slur out, "Whaddafuck's tha Nafel Cremanal Infestation Surface, anyway? Pa said… they snooped… at the fuckin' Sandbar… I dunno. Fuckem."

"Whatever you say, Chris. Just close your eyes. Get some rest."

Chris struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to talk, wanted to find out what was up. He needed to know. But his eyes slammed shut and sleep was coming fast.

"Ma'am?" Chris asked, but it came out as "Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"I… I did good?"

The nurse answered him then, but Chris heard it and thought it was in a dream.

"Yes, Chris," the nurse said. "You did good."

* * *

**XX**

* * *

**A/N: 1-3-2020.**

**Through a special push of effort, I managed to get this chapter done today. My sincerest thanks to Jenny wrens for inspiring and supporting me. She has welcomed my interest and enthusiasm for collaborating with her on her work, and I am a better writer because she gave me that opportunity. I will be inactive for the next two months, but I hoped to add this chapter to "Perspective" before going offline, and I am glad I could do so.**

**Isn't Woodes Rogers (IV) the best? He does genuinely mean well, but this guy just made a speech like he'd been planning to make a pitch to the Board of Governors about expanding the fine arts at Xavier Preparatory School for years. He only just thought of the idea, but he jumped on it with both feet, that's for sure.**

**The 1958 Plymouth Fury that Cassandra Marshall owns- or did own- is an old car indeed. When the 1958 model year cars were manufactured starting in 1957, there was no federal or state law requiring seatbelts in the United States. Preston Tucker had attempted to produce a vehicle that would feature them as standard ten years prior in 1948, but he was unsuccessful and the Tucker Torpedo never got past a brief run of 51 cars. At any rate, cars built before seatbelts are not required to have them provided they maintain antique/vintage car registration. That is how it works in the United States at least.**

**Long story short, Cassandra's 1958 Plymouth Fury was retrofitted with seatbelts at some point. A good thing, too, because the three teenagers inside the car during the crash would probably have been killed had the car featured no seatbelts.**

**Cassandra Marshall made an impulsive decision to follow the Ford pickup, but I believe she did so with the best of intentions. She doesn't like Makayla Wallace that much, but then she isn't too fond of the majority of people. She's mostly suspicious of Riley, who is an unknown factor, and someone she does not trust as a result. Riley is a good guy, of course, but Cassandra does not know that.**

**The Marshalls are a family of fighters. Brigadier General Marshall and his wife have worked hard to train their children to be brave, dutiful, well-spoken and responsible, and encouraged them to make friends in high places and look for ways to promote their own standing and that of their family. I believe that the behavior we see from Josh Jr., Chris T., and Cassandra in this chapter's crisis is thanks to all that training and experience. That, and whatever genes and inherent traits that helped make their parents the extraordinary people that they are.**

**Please feel free to offer any feedback you care to, or send me a PM if you like. I will not be able to respond to either until at least March 2020, but don't worry. It may take two months, but like the Terminator said, I'll be back.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

**XX**

* * *

Josh was sitting on the Head Girl's desk, still talking to Melissa, assuring her everything would be fine, when the call came in. He grumbled irritably at first, wondering who could be bothering him now, but any trace of irritation vanished when he saw the caller ID.

_Dad._

"Shit," Josh muttered, snapping his phone open and putting it to his ear. "Yes, sir?"

"Get your sister and drive to the General Hospital. Cassandra's car got hit and-"

The world lurched forward before Josh's eyes, and he had to steady himself to keep from falling off the desk. "Sir," he blurted, "what-"

"Hit by a truck! I'll explain if you keep it together!"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn truck's air brakes fucked up and the driver couldn't stop. Cassandra tried to get away but there wasn't time. She's fine, Lucas is fine, Chris- he's fine. No one's dead or about to be, so just keep your shit together."

"Yes, sir."

"I've already called your mother. She's taking care of getting you and Brittany signed out. Get over there to the office."

Josh nodded to himself, marveling again at how fast his father was capable of moving in a crisis. He made most other people look like they were moving in slow motion, if not standing still.

"I'll get moving, sir."

"You do that, Josh."

"Sir, what about Will?"

"He's got his own way of getting down here. I had to talk with Mr. Henderson since Will was busy."

"Mr. Henderson's never failed us yet, sir," Josh said confidently.

"It's a Marine thing," Dad growled. "We don't know how."

"Semper Fi, Dad."

"Don't worry. Everything's gonna be all right."

Josh closed his phone after Dad hung up, and looked around at the expectant faces, the leaders of the Xavier student body, arrayed in front of him. Most of them, whether they admitted to it or not, had little love for Cassandra Marshall. Most of the student body didn't. Not at Xavier, and it would probably always be that way no matter where Cass went to school. She made little effort to make herself likeable.

But did they want to see her dead, badly injured, in the hospital at all? No. They weren't so cold as to wish that on anyone, least of all a hard-driving fighter like Cassandra.

And Chris and Lukas… they made up for Cassandra's lack of interpersonal tact and then some. They ranked among the most popular guys at Xavier Prep School. Them being in a car wreck would be a big deal. A really big deal. It was going to be talked of for years.

The boys and girls in the room had only been privy to half of the conversation, but they nonetheless knew before Josh even told them. They listened attentively as he explained what had happened, and although they offered to help, asked what they could do, Josh just said thank you, everything's gonna be all right.

He left the room with Melissa beside him. Woodes Rogers, the senator's son, walked with him to the office, promising that he would take care of everything here at school, and that he and the other Prefects would cover for as long as the Marshalls needed- even if that was all the remaining days in the semester. Josh nodded appreciatively, said thank you or something to that effect. It was difficult to speak.

When Josh found his mother, the graceful and influential member of the Board of Governors, he went to her instinctively, as did Brittany, his younger sister. They were both in a state of shock, he knew, unsure and frightened of what lay ahead. They had been promised that Cass and Chris were okay, that Lukas was okay, but… it was hard to take all at once. Very hard.

"I should've been with them, Mom," Josh said, hiding his face against her shoulder. "I should've been there."

"It's okay, Josh," Elizabeth Marshall whispered. "It's gonna be all right."

"I'm scared, Mom." Josh found it hard to admit, but in this meeting room, away from the world and its prying eyes, he could say it.

"I'm scared, too," Brittany said, her voice shaking.

"Be afraid. Give your fear its place. But control it. And remember who you are."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now… let's be thankful that we already know as much as we do. We know your siblings and your friend are alive. We know that they aren't severely injured. Let's be thankful for that."

"Can we go see them, Mom?" Josh asked.

"Yes. We're going now."

Josh briefly felt like he was going to cry, but he didn't. He managed to suppress it, at least for now, figuring it was what Dad would have done. What Cass would have done. He didn't consider himself as smart or brave or talented as either of them, but he had a name and a legacy to uphold, and that counted for something.

Especially when times got tough.

**XX**

William Marshall pressed another button on the little remote he used during his lectures, shifting the slide to show a magnificent portrait of Charles I of England.

"So," he said, in that slightly-raised voice he used for classroom lectures, "you see now what anyone can see after even a basic study of the subject: The English Civil War was Charles I's fault. Simply put, it was. Was he the only figure or factor at play? Absolutely not. Would the war still have happened without him and his impact on English politics and society? No. There is essentially no chance the war would have ever occurred if you remove Charles I from the equation. By 1640 Charles I had alienated the majority of his subjects, and even among the Royalists during the war, support for him personally was low."

William paused to let the note-takers jot down a few more things, then went on.

"So the war, while hardly inevitable, would not and could not have happened without Charles I and the decisions he made. He interpreted the concept of Divine Right quite literally, and was as stiff and unyielding as his belief system. He paid dearly for that, but remember that he was not an arbitrary ruler or deliberate tyrant the way other crowned rulers have been. Now, next week, we will be moving into our final lectures on the war and its key battles. Mr. Smith, make sure you give me a corrected annotated bibliography no later than next Monday. A study of field and siege artillery, however compelling, will not get you the grade you'd like if it isn't properly cited."

Chris Smith, who had been slouching in his chair again, sat up straight upon being addressed. He pushed his sunglasses up on his forehead and nodded. "Yes- uh, yes, sir."

"Good. Now, remember that the final exam is not cumulative, but it is thorough regardless. You have gotten every chance to ask me questions, to take thorough notes. There is nothing on it that has not been talked about in class, I assure you. Study smart, review the key subjects, events, the who, what, when, where, why, and how, and I promise, you will all get through my exam and everyone else's just fine."

With that, Will hit the clicker again and the pull-down projector screen went blank.

"Anyone who has questions knows where to find me this afternoon."

As the twenty-four students in the English Civil War seminar class packed up their things and left, Will turned and stepped up onto the stool he had placed behind the podium. Nobody laughed; they knew better by now. But as he got his notes, put them together in his briefcase, and made his way into the hallway, Will nonetheless felt like an oddball, a freak. The little professor in his thousand-dollar suit, lecturing to undergraduates while most boys his age were attending middle school.

Maybe it was just him, just ol' Will being self-conscious, but he saw the odd looks students sent his way, especially when they didn't know him. When he had first arrived at Cornell to take up the post of Teacher's Assistant this summer, beginning his Master of Arts in History while taking on some of the undergraduate classes as a lecturer and grader, Will had been mistaken for somebody's kid brother at least a hundred times. He'd baffled even some of the professors with his youth, his prodigious memory, and his voracious appetite for reading and research.

That he'd come here with a quadruple-major in History, German, Government, and Mathematics from Hampden-Sydney College confused people even more. Time and again people reacted as if they had never seen or heard of anything even remotely like him, but, Will knew, they almost certainly hadn't, so that was only fair.

Still. It didn't make it much better for William Marshall, day by day. He was successful far beyond his years. He could do so much that seemed so simple to him, yet was so extraordinary to so many. Graduate and undergraduate students here, at Cornell University, openly envied him. Some admired him, some even loathed him, resenting the fact that the "little kid" could easily beat them at everything, every possible academic measurement and contest. It didn't seem to matter to that last group that Will did everything he could to be modest about his accomplishments. The ones who wanted to dislike Will for being what he was went right ahead and disliked him anyway.

As Will rounded a corner, Mr. Henderson, his driver and personal guardian, spoke for the first time since they had left the classroom.

"Will, I think you had better cancel your schedule for the afternoon."

"Why?" Will asked. "Exams are coming up. I have to make sure they're ready."

"Things have changed. Your father called me while you were lecturing."

So that's what that was about, Will thought. That's why he left.

Turning left into a teachers' break room, Will closed the door behind his guardian, set his briefcase down and adjusted his Brooks Brothers tie, the garnet red one bearing the old Hampden-Sydney seal that he liked so much. "Okay. What's this about?"

Mr. Henderson went right ahead. "Cassandra and Chris were just in a car wreck. Lukas Shepard, too. They're all right, but the General made it plain that he wants everyone on site at the hospital as soon as possible. He's already secured a plane and is on his way up from Parris Island."

"Why?" Will asked. "How'd this happen?"

"A trucker's brakes failed. That's what we know."

Will nodded, having already considered and rejected the idea of throwing a tantrum or raging at the driver of the truck. Such emotional excesses still occurred to him; he was just better than most adults at realizing that they rarely, if ever, did any good. As always, Will sought the most logical and efficient course of action, and simply nodded to show his understanding, meeting his guardian's eyes steadily.

"Okay. I'll need to notify the Department that I have to step out for now. Dr. Kellan will understand. What else do I need to know?"

"I have the car waiting, and a space for it to be parked indefinitely at the airport. All you need to do is come with me to the plane, and we'll be in Washington in a few hours. From there, another car ride to the hospital."

"What type of injuries did they get?"

"Your father knows that, but he told me the focus is on getting everyone to the hospital right now."

"Yes, that's best. All right. I need to-"

Dr. Jacob Kellan, Chair of the History, Humanities, and Philosophy Department at Cornell University, walked in just then, coffee cup in hand. He noticed Mr. Henderson, noticed Will, saw the expressions on their faces.

"John," Dr. Kellan said. "Will. Something I ought to know?"

"I'll tell him, Mr. Henderson," Will said.

"Yes, Will?" Dr. Kellan asked, looking to the red-haired twelve-year-old attentively.

Will thought of a dozen possible explanations, rejected all but one. As always, it was the most efficient option, the most direct. He started his explanation by getting right to the point.

"The semester's over for me, Dr. Kellan," Will said. "I'm going home."

**XX**

Soon after he got to the hospital, Josh Marshall, Junior saw his twin brother for the first time since the accident, saw how battered he was, and learned how it had nearly been a whole lot worse. Chris was passed out, but talking to Cassandra and Lukas, Josh learned more than enough. He wasn't surprised at the bravery Chris had displayed. It was in the Marshall DNA to be brave. The damage it may have done to his right ankle, though… how would Chris go through four years in the South Carolina Corps of Cadets if it couldn't be fixed right? What would it mean for his aim to become a Marine officer?

Josh was beside himself. He couldn't even think straight. He wanted to scream, cry… he didn't know what he wanted to do. But after he'd settled down, he slumped in a chair beside Chris, having made the decision that he was not leaving his brother's side.

Finally, however, the need to visit the head (bathroom, as civilians called it) overwhelmed Josh's protective instincts, and he got up and reluctantly left. He was on his way back when Melissa practically ran into him. They got tangled up and nearly fell over.

"Easy, easy," Josh said, steadying his girlfriend with both hands on her shoulders. "Did you find your sister? Everything okay?"

"Well," Melissa sighed, "she ran off again."

Josh closed his eyes, steeled himself against saying something he'd probably regret. "Okay. Anything else? What's up?"

"Riley, he- he left. He just got up, and he left."

"Isn't he a fu- a frigging patient here, Missy?"

"Yes, he is. Well, he was. I guess."

"Damn it!" Josh exclaimed, turning away, clenching both hands into fists. "It was him that got beat up, right? Wasn't he the one my brother and my sister and Lukas- they went to save him, right?"

"Yes. That's him. He got beat up pretty good."

"Oh, jeez," Josh sighed. "That's great. That's just terrific."

"Please don't take it out on my sister. She's not thinking clearly."

"I won't, Missy," Josh promised, hugging her close to him. "Don't worry. It's not her fault that guy's an idiot."

"Everybody's just run off," Melissa said fearfully. "I don't know where I'm supposed to go."

Josh considered that. "Have you tried calling your aunt?"

"I-I don't know if I should," Melissa answered uncertainly. "She's always so busy. I don't know if I should bother her."

"She's your aunt. She ought to have time for you."

"I think she means to," Melissa said. "but she's so wrapped up in her work." She paused. "How do your parents do it? How do they have time for you?"

"I don't know," Josh admitted. "They're like superheroes to me. They manage it somehow." He laughed. "Kind of like superheroes do, I guess."

"Speaking of," a deep voice said right behind Josh, "I think one of 'em just showed up."

"Dad!" Josh exclaimed, spinning around and hugging his father tightly. Dad was dressed in one of his civilian suits, Brooks Brothers, of course. Subtle, yet superbly made. He looked like a man of wealth, power, and taste, which he most certainly was.

General, battlefield commander, war hero, distinguished graduate of one school after another… a man who had started with absolutely nothing save for a kid brother and a dream of a better life. Dad was as American as you could get.

"Has Chris woken up yet?" Dad asked, once the two separated.

"No, sir," Josh answered. "He's been out since- since the accident."

"Cassandra, and Lukas?"

"They're fine, sir. Just like you said."

"Then what's the trouble? You look like something is bothering you."

"It's Chris, sir. His ankle- he's messed it up. He's gonna need surgery."

"I know. He'll get through it."

"And-" Josh paused, glancing at Melissa. "I just found out that- that guy, Riley, he got outta the hospital somehow." Josh's voice shook with anger. "Cass, Chris and Lukas risked their lives trying to get to him. This is what we get."

"You can't control Riley Janssen's behavior," Dad replied. "If he makes a wrong decision, then that'll be his problem, not yours."

"Two of my family just stuck their necks out to help him. Chris messed up his ankle, Dad. This is the thanks he has for us."

"We Marshalls have been serving the ungrateful for a long time," Dad said wisely. "You think everybody appreciated what your Granddad did in three wars the way they should have?"

"No, sir."

"Don't worry about him, then. Riley Janssen will learn, sooner or later, that playing Lone Ranger and trying to do it all yourself is just not worth the trouble."

"I'd like to do a little of that teaching myself," Josh said. He wasn't feeling too charitable towards Riley Janssen right now.

"He'll learn," Dad said again. "You don't need to go trying to fix his personal deficiencies yourself. Take my word on it."

"Yes, Dad." Josh paused. "Is Will on his way down here?"

"Yes. He'll be here later tonight."

Melissa had been hanging around the edge of the scene as Josh and Dad talked, visibly unsure of whether she should go or stay. Josh remembered his manners then, stepped back, and gestured to his girlfriend.

"Dad, this is Melissa Wallace."

"Good to finally meet you," Dad said graciously, extending his right hand. Though gruff and hard-shelled much of the time, he could be diplomatic and even sociable when he wanted to be. "Josh has been telling my wife and I all about you. I would've rather met you on a happier day, but we don't always get to pick and choose."

"Sorry if my sister or Riley've caused any trouble for you, sir," Melissa said carefully. "I tried to tell her. She doesn't like to listen to me."

"That's not your fault," Dad said. "If you've told your sister what the right thing is, and she still wants to do the wrong thing, then that's for her to live with."

"Agent Gibbs said-"

"He's here?" Josh Sr. interrupted, frowning. "I'm surprised I didn't know."

"Dr. Drayton, the Chief of Medicine here, was in Dad's class at The Citadel," Josh explained to Melissa. "He keeps Mom and Dad informed personally if we're ever over here for something."

"Which isn't often, thankfully," Dad commented.

"Yes, sir," Josh agreed.

"Melissa, it would be a pleasure to get to know you later. For right now, I have to go see Cassandra, Chris, and Lukas. Please don't hesitate to mention my name if you need something from the staff. They'll make sure you're taken care of."

"Thank you, sir," Melissa said, wide-eyed.

"Mom is with Chris right now," Josh said.

"I'm glad to hear you all handled yourselves well," Dad replied.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Remember what I told you before, Josh. Marshalls fight the good fight. Always. Wherever there's trouble, there's a Marshall, lending a hand. We do it whether the people we serve are grateful or not."

Thinking resentfully of how Riley Janssen had fled this hospital after the Marshall children had gone to so much trouble to bring him there, Josh wanted to argue, but knew better than to do that. You didn't argue with Josh Marshall, Senior.

Instead, Josh just answered, "Yes, sir." He paused, noticing for the first time that Dad was carrying something in his left hand. "Dad, what've you got there?"

"The Winged Victory hood ornament from your sister's car. A member of the Virginia State Police responded to the call and found it intact. After the fire, there was nothing else left."

"Fire?" Melissa asked, looking as alarmed as she sounded.

"Chris was able to get everyone out," Dad replied. "The car was replaceable. Your siblings and Lukas are not."

"Cass loved that car," Josh said, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. His sister didn't let herself show love or even liking for many things or people, but she sure loved her Plymouth. That Belvidere had been her pride and joy. Josh found he couldn't picture the cream-and-gold car on fire, or being carted away as broken wreckage. He could only think of the car as it had been, a steel-and-chrome, mile-long beauty.

"She did," Dad acknowledged. "But there's others like it. There's only one Cassandra Marshall."

"That's for sure," Melissa said. "Um, sir."

"Please excuse me," Dad said. "Josh, I expect the best from you."

"Nothing but the best, sir."

Dad smiled. "Because anything else is a waste of time."

"Yes, sir."

**XX**

Chris T. Marshall didn't know how long he'd been out. He wasn't even entirely sure where he was. The nurses kept saying which hospital, but the name just went in and right back out the other side. Chris figured he had to be on… something. Probably morphine. That stuff was awesome. They said his right ankle was pretty messed up because of the hard work he forced it to do right after the crash.

What was I supposed to do? Chris thought. Leave them? Dad would've killed me.

The shock of the accident had made Chris a little childish; he kept trying to flirt with the younger nurses, and the more attractive he found them, the more he wanted to know what their phone number was. He figured he picked it up from Dad. The fearless general and war hero had been quite the charming young man once upon a time, according to Mom.

_I wonder where Josh is. I wanna know why he left. He shouldn't leave. He's my twin. He's half of me. Where is my brother?_

"Josh!"

"He's out in the hallway, Christian," Mom said from her chair close by.

"Yes, Mom." Chris tried to sit up, shifted around restlessly on the hospital bed. An eager and enthusiastic athlete from his earliest days, Chris was not used to being confined to one place for long.

"Hey, man," Josh Marshall, Jr. said from the doorway, giving his twin a big smile.

"I love you," Chris said; his loopy, scatter-brained mood was causing him to be unusually honest and direct.

Josh, Jr. looked surprised for a moment, then started to tear up. His chest hitched, and he nodded. "I love you, too, man."

"Joshua, are you looking after your girlfriend? You'd better not forget her."

"Mom, I wanna stay with my brother," Josh insisted. "He needs me."

"We're never apart," Chris added. "Never." He nodded a lot. "Mom, Josh is like me, but he's this other person, but he's half of me."

"You're twins, is that what you're saying?" Mom asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Mm-hmm," Chris nodded vigorously.

"Evening, everyone," Josh Marshall, Senior said, announcing himself in the doorway.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hi, Dad."

"Josh," Mom said, rising to greet her husband.

"My dearest," Josh Sr. said fondly as he embraced her. "Liz. Seconds without you are like years. A day, eternity. Only when I'm with you am I ever whole."

"There's a poet inside that big, scary warrior," Elizabeth Marshall teased.

"There is," Josh Sr. agreed, while Josh Jr. "Not that the world's ever gonna see it."

"And why shouldn't they? You could have a second career waiting for you."

"The Corps is my career. I've never wanted any other life."

Behind his parents, Josh, Jr. was mimicking gagging and throwing up. Chris kept going from being deeply moved by his parents' sincere love for each other, and amusement at his brother's antics. He managed to keep from cracking up, however, which was probably for the best. It was an unpleasant thing, facing Mom and Dad's wrath at once.

Chris' attention drifted, not helped by renewed pain in his wounded ankle. Maybe it was worse off than he'd thought. He'd been certain he'd only sprained it. When he noticed the room around him again, Dad was there, waiting patiently.

"Hey, Dad," Chris said faintly. He grinned. "I'm a big goddamn hero!" He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

"You are," Dad agreed, grinning back. "But not as good as me."

"Aw, I pulled two other people outta this car like it was nothing," Chris insisted. "And it was on fire, Dad!"

"I commanded a company that destroyed a Republican Guard tank brigade," Dad replied. "I led the armored force that bailed out those Delta Force and Ranger motherfuckers when it got too hot. I was in Fallujah. Afghanistan, again and again. You see my dress uniform?"

"I'm gonna be a fuckin' big hero someday," Chris blurted. "Like you, Dad. Like my Uncle Chris."

It might have been his imagination, but Josh Sr.'s eyes flashed with emotion for a moment. He was always reluctant to speak of Uncle Chris.

"My brother would be proud of you," Dad said. "Never doubt that. You're a credit to his name, and to that old warhorse that gave you your middle name."

"Aw," Chris said, looking away. He fell silent for a few moments. "Dad, is my ankle bad? Is it really?"

"You're going to need surgery," Dad said.

"Why?"

"To set it right again."

"Will I be able to run, and play soccer, and march and everything?" Chris asked.

"If it goes well, yes."

"What- what if it doesn't?"

"That depends."

Chris frowned, angry and determined despite the drugs and the pain, the latter of which was thankfully fading again thanks to the former.

"Dad."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to The Citadel. I'm gonna be in the Class of 2011. I'm gonna commission into the Marines. And anybody here tries to stop me, I'm gonna fucking keep my right foot long enough to kick 'em in the ass with it."

"Sounds like a plan. But remember that Dr. Drayton was in my class at The Citadel."

"Yes, sir." Chris considered that, then thought of something else. "Dad?"

"Yes, Chris?"

"Did I do the right thing?"

"Of course you did. You did what a Marshall always does. You ran towards the danger, and you did something about it. That's a rare trait, Chris. Few people do what you do by instinct."

"Only because you taught me," Chris said.

Dad gave another of his big grins again. "Well, you learned from the best, didn't you?"

"I gotta tell Josh the truth, Dad," Chris went on. "I said my ankle's not bad. I better get him ready in case I can't- I can't fucking walk normally after this, or something." Chris started tearing up, fought it, ended up blinking a lot and refusing to admit what he was doing.

"There's nothing wrong with crying, Chris," Dad said finally. "It shows you're human, and it shows you care."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm glad to see you're all right, Chris. I love you. Get some rest. You've got a big day tomorrow."

"Can Josh stay with me?" Chris asked, almost pleading. He hadn't been separated from Josh Jr. for even a day through his sixteen years. In times like this he wanted Josh with him. He didn't want to face this kind of hardship without his twin.

"He can until we leave for the night. Rules are rules."

"But-"

"Chris, everything's gonna be all right. I promise. Understand?"

"I love you, Dad," Chris blurted.

"I love you, too."

**XX**

Cassandra Marshall grumbled something unintelligible as the nurse left, fighting the urge to hurl something after her. She hated being stuck in this room, on this bed. One car roll and a couple of bruises and a few cuts from flying glass, and everybody was trying to coddle her. Cassandra let Mom do it because, well, Mom was Mom, and you never questioned her love or kindness if you were one of the lucky few to have her as a parent.

And Lukas. He was always being so nice, so romantic. So damn good-looking in his underwear. Cassandra had liked him from the beginning. He'd asked her out so many times, and each time she said no he simply got more innovative, more clever, even more charming. But he was stuck in a hospital bed, too, and Cassandra's cell phone had been lost in the crash, so there was no chance of text-messaging him all night.

Not like the nurses would have allowed that, anyway. Cassandra was proud of how strong she had always been, took great pride in her inner and outer resilience and stamina. She set her standards high and had little sympathy for the fact that most failed to meet them. That wasn't her fault. People just needed to step up their game. And the nurses? If they thought Cassandra was hard-boiled, they should've met some of her idols, the leader of whom was Dad. The General. The Citadel man, battlefield commander, war hero. The genius of tactics and strategy.

Fuming still, Cassandra picked up her copy of Lieutenant General Alexander R. St. Esprit, III's memoirs, _Against All Odds_. It was autographed, a copy set aside before Cassandra was even born. It was also one of her favorite books on leading people in war and in peace, on war and being a warrior, even if it was written by a man who'd passed up the Corps for the Army.

_His one big mistake_, Cassandra thought with some amusement.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," a familiar voice called from the doorway.

"Dad!" Cassandra exclaimed, closing the book with a snap. She made to get up and salute, but Dad waved her down. "Hey, Dad!"

"I hear you had a little scrape just now," Dad said. "That's not a bad reaction time you have. You just didn't have enough time in that situation. You did the best you could with what you had."

"Yes, sir," Cassandra said, nodding. She had already thought enough about the accident to know that was the truth. She didn't like it, wanted to be told she could have done better, but hearing it from Dad sealed the deal. There was no way around it. She'd gotten into a wreck that she could not have avoided, not without simply not going at all.

"I'm proud of the fact that the first thing you three did was head straight for the problem. You did exactly what a Marshall is supposed to do."

"What we always do, Dad."

"Exactly, what we always do."

"Where are they? That little gi- uh, Makayla Wallace? And that boyfriend of hers? Riley something?"

"Makayla's safe. Riley Janssen…" Dad sighed. "He's UA from the hospital."

Cold fury surged into Cassandra, and she clenched her hands into fists.

"If he thinks he can run right outta here after I went to all that fucking trouble-"

"He'll learn, someday," Dad promised. "Just like Makayla Wallace will."

Cassandra snorted rudely. "I have some doubts, Dad."

"You're not saying I could be wrong about something, are you?" Dad asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"No, sir. A Citadel graduate is never wrong, not after they make flag rank," Cassandra replied matter-of-factly.

"Of course not."

"But, respectfully speaking, Dad, I'd like to find old buddy Riley and plant my foot so far up his fucking ass-"

"The police will find him," Dad said confidently. "They'll locate Janssen. He's not your problem."

"We risked our lives!" Cassandra hissed. "A little fuckin' gratitude would be nice."

"I was just telling Josh- we do what's right whether anyone ever thanks us or not. Whether they even make our sacrifices count or not. We just fight the good fight, because…"

"…There's noplace we'd rather be," Cassandra finished.

"Yes."

"Damn it, Dad."

"You're gonna be a terror to the enemy one fine day, Cassandra," Dad said. "I wish more of my Marines had your drive."

"Thanks, Dad."

Cassandra looked down at her lap to hide her smile. She loved getting compliments from the greatest man, the biggest hero she had ever known.

She loved Mom with all her heart, felt nothing but pride and gratitude for being her daughter, but… it was Dad she identified with the most. She'd inherited Dad's skill for organizing and leading people, Dad's gift for bringing order to the worst kinds of chaos. She wasn't afraid of the challenges involved in taking a force of Marines across the oceans and seas and destroying people who'd done nothing but ask for it. She relished the chance. She welcomed it. Cassandra gave thought to little else. And if that made her seem prickly or unlikeable to some people, well, that was their problem and not hers.

"Cassandra, I have something for you," Dad said, after falling silent a few moments.

"Yes?"

"After the crash, the hood ornament for your car was found by a State Trooper on the scene."

Cassandra went still.

"My- my car?"

"Yes. I have the Winged Victory hood ornament here. It's untouched."

"But- but- but Dad- my car-"

"It was destroyed, Cassandra. The fuel tank ruptured and it burned up just after Chris got you and Lukas out of there."

Cassandra felt a peculiar tightness in her chest. "Dad, Lukas, he's okay? Chris is okay?"

"They're fine. Chris will need surgery for his right ankle, but Dr. Drayton says it's a high chance he's gonna be just fine."

"Okay," Cassandra said. She nodded. "Okay. They're okay."

"Yes. They are. And you had a part in that. You did everything you could to help Miss Wallace and Mister Riley, and to get yourself and your two passengers out of danger."

"But my car!" Cassandra exclaimed. "I-I don't know where it is. What happened to it?"

"It's at a wrecking yard, Cassandra. It's gone."

Dad unwrapped the Winged Victory hood ornament and handed it over.

Cassandra stared blankly down at it, at the chrome emblem that, Dad said, was all that was left of the beautiful 1958 Plymouth Belvidere that Cassandra had gotten along with her license.

"Gone," Cassandra said, not comprehending. That car was too fast, too sleek, entirely too beautiful. Something as commonplace and ugly as a Mack truck didn't get to destroy something as beautiful as a '58 Plymouth. That just wasn't allowed.

It didn't make sense.

And neither did something else. Cassandra looked at her father again.

"Dad, is it bad? With Chris?"

"Odds are on his side, Cassandra."

"But what if it goes wrong?" Cassandra insisted.

"We'll just have to see."

"I trashed my car, almost got my brother and my boyfriend killed. Now he might not walk right again? What if he can't go to The Citadel after this? What if he can't be a Marine?" Cassandra's voice rose. "I did all that to Chris, all for some fuckin' idiot who ran off before I-"

"-Could plant your foot up his ass?"

Cassandra sighed, suddenly deflated. "Yeah."

"Remember what I told you? What do Marshalls do?"

"We fight the good fight, Dad," Cassandra said, quoting from Dad's "You Are A Marshall" speech, the one he gave each of his kids as they grew up, usually around ten or twelve. "We run towards the danger. Wherever there's trouble, there's a Marshall, lending a hand. We're not after money, or glory, or even a thank-you. We're after honor. We go wherever there's trouble because someone has to, and it might as well be us. We fight… we fight because…"

"Because it's worth it."

"Yes, sir."

"So Riley Janssen really isn't any problem at all, is he? You and Josh and Lukas went to help him and Makayla Wallace because those two needed your help. You did the right thing. That's all that's important."

Cassandra thought about that for almost three minutes; the ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound in the room.

"Dad," she finally said, in an unusually-quiet voice.

"Yes, Cassandra?"

"What's the worst-case scenario? What happens to Chris?"

Dad didn't mince words. "He'll probably have to be in therapy for a while yet, and even then he might not be able to run or walk like he did before."

"So no Citadel, no ring, no Marines."

"That's right."

"He wants that more than anything. He always has."

"I know."

"I put him where he is," Cassandra said. "I'm responsible." She blinked away tears furiously, unwilling to admit she was getting upset, even to herself. She'd wound up destroying her car and putting people in danger, and it wasn't even for much of a reason.

"These things happen, Cassandra," Dad said evenly. "Would Chris have wanted to be somewhere else? Or would he have chosen to be there with you, even knowing what it might mean for him?"

"He wouldn't miss out. I know he wouldn't. He'd just want Josh there, too."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Cassandra. Take it from someone who's led people into dangerous situations hundreds of times: shit happens."

"Yes, sir."

Cassandra was about to say something else, possibly something sentimental and dumb, but Brittany showed up just then and started going on about the NYPD and how Dad was gonna introduce her to the Commissioner in May.

Eager as she was to encourage her sibling to pursue her passion for law enforcement, Cassandra watched and listened attentively, giving Brittany the respect and compassion she deserved.

Just like Dad always did.

Beneath her good cheer and enthusiasm, however, Cassandra sensed anxiety on Brittany's part, maybe even fear. Worry. Surely Brittany hadn't been worrying about her mean older sister? Cassandra brushed the thought aside, even after Brittany made a point of hugging her big sister before she left with Dad to "go find some food or something."

**XX**

William Marshall arrived at the hospital late at night and quickly located his family. Mom and Dad were in the nearest waiting area, talking quietly about something, as were Josh and what had to be his girlfriend Melissa. Brittany was asleep in her chair, head back against the travel pillow she'd put on.

"Hello," Will said to the group, once he got close enough. As ever, Mr. Henderson, was close behind him, and Mom and Dad were clearly pleased to see them both.

"Well, if it isn't my little professor," Mom said, kneeling to hug him.

"Mom," Will said in mild protest. "I'm just a TA. I don't even have my Master's yet."

"And so modest, too."

"Aw, Mom."

"I understand you've been doing well up there," Dad said in greeting. "I'm glad you and John got down here safely."

"Do I really need a guard while I'm at Cornell, Dad?"

"He acts as your legal guardian on behalf of your mother and I. You're twelve, Will, so, yes, you need to have someone with you."

Will smiled. "I know that, Dad. I was only joking with you."

"So. Cassandra, Chris and Lukas are all resting comfortably. They're all okay, aside from some scrapes and bruises. Chris will be going into surgery tomorrow for his right foot. He'll be all right."

"What happened?"

"Cassandra, Chris and Lukas were hit by a truck that ran a red light. Its brakes failed. The car rolled but everyone got out of it okay. Chris made sure of that when he pulled Lukas and Cassandra out before the car caught fire."

Will smiled. "I'm not surprised. That's Chris."

"Yes," Dad said, with obvious pride. "That's him."

"So it's just cuts and scrapes- apart from Chris and his foot?"

"Yes," Mom answered. "We're just lucky seatbelts were installed in that car."

"First state to require those was New York in 1984," Will recalled from his research. "Last one was Maine in 1995. And if that Plymouth had been registered as an antique, it still wouldn't have been required to have them. They save lives. I don't see how that wasn't obvious from the moment they were invented."

"You're right on top of the facts, as always, William," Dad remarked, clearly impressed. "You'll be an excellent Marine officer one of these days."

_But I want to be in the Navy_, Dad, Will thought with a touch of guilt. _You don't know this, but I fell in love with just the _idea_ of submarines when we all watched _Down Periscope_ at home that first time. I'm gonna be a submariner. I'm getting some gold dolphins. And I don't know how I can tell anyone. Everyone thinks I can figure it all out, Dad, but I'm stuck on this one. But I'm going into the Navy. I just don't know how to tell you._

"I assume we have somewhere we're going to stay?" Will asked. "For the night?"

"Yes," Mom said. "A friend of mine made sure that a multi-room suite is waiting for us at an Embassy Suites about fifteen minutes from here."

"The wonders of having a mom who knows everybody," Will observed.

"Are you thinking about some more of your corny jokes, Will?" Josh asked, coming over to greet him.

"No, Josh." Will hesitated, then looked up and said, "I was just thinking about how much I love all of you. I'm so glad to be back."

Dad gave one of his deep grunts and blinked; Mom got a little misty-eyed, and Josh knelt and swept Will up in his arms, thousand-dollar suit or no. He spun Will around, tossed him up in the air, caught him effortlessly, and hugged him close. After long partings, reunions with Josh could be a form of martial arts.

Josh looked his youngest sibling right in the eyes. "Will," he said, "it's good to see you."

"Yeah, I like seeing me," Will cracked. "Can you put me down?"

"Nah."

"Seriously, I've been holding it since Ithaca."

"Will," Mr. Henderson said reproachfully, "what have I told you about waiting-"

"I'm just kidding, Mr. Henderson," Will said, shrugging. He squirmed and dropped out of Josh's grip when he wasn't paying attention, then went right up to Melissa, who had been hanging around the edge of the little reunion, looking awkward and nervous.

"Hello," he said confidently. "I'm Will Marshall."

"Hi," the redhead responded. "Yes, I'm- uh, I'm Mellissa Wallace."

"Josh always tells me how much he likes you."

Melissa blushed almost as red as her hair. "I'm sure he does."

"It's all polite," Will assured her. "He respects you."

Josh came up and scooped Will up again, one hand under each of Will's arms.

"Gotcha, little genius."

"I'm not actually a genius. Strictly speaking, a genius is someone who is defined as-"

"Oh, hush, Mastermind."

"Melissa, I was gonna ask when your parents are coming to get you."

"Oh," Melissa said. "Um, well… they would, except… well, they're busy. So I guess my Aunt Jenny would be coming to get me. I guess. She's kind of nice. I just- I don't see her that much."

"Mom? Dad? I think Melissa needs us to do something here."

"What do you need, Melissa?" Mom asked considerately. "We can get you a room at the Embassy Suites with us, or we can help you reach your Aunt."

"It's your call," Dad said. "We just want to make sure you're taken care of."

"That goes for the Christmas break too, Melissa," Mom assured her. "If you need us, even if it's just to drive you somewhere you need to go, we're there for you. You won't be left stranded, I guarantee it."

Will squirmed out of Josh's grip again, dodged him, and started pacing the floor, thinking of the possibilities. His mind raced from the two options Mom and Dad had presented Melissa with, either of which could work and both of which would ensure Melissa's safety and well-being. Then, already done with that, he began thinking of Cassandra, who, whether she admitted it or not, would be mourning her lost car. And it was lost- based on the details he'd been given, Will had no doubt of that.

There would have to be a replacement. Either another Belvidere, or a Fury, which was identical to the Belvidere in 1958. Or maybe Mom and Dad would insist on something newer… it was hard to say. Will knew this would require more thought, but later. More important things were going on right now.

When it came time to go, Josh argued and insisted he wasn't going to leave. He only backed down when both Mom and Dad gave him The Stare, that irresistible look of someone who would brook no argument, who could rain fire and melt steel if provoked. Josh Sr. and Elizabeth Marshall loved their children deeply, but they had no patience for anyone who challenged their authority.

Will was adored simply for being smarter than practically anyone anywhere. He got a pass, almost, for being born smart. He'd also never once challenged his parents, although as much as he dreaded it, with his desire to join the Navy, the day was probably coming when he might just have to.

**XX**

The long night took a serious toll on Josh Marshall, Junior. He wasn't used to being separated from his twin, especially in times when one of them was hurt or bothered by something. Unable to be there with his identical twin, Josh stayed up, restlessly pacing the floor of his room. He wished he had Melissa with him here; she had a calming effect on Josh like nobody else. He'd talked to her so much today, helped her through so many thoughts and worries about her sister and everything that Makayla had going on.

It was so disappointing to see Riley Janssen just disappear like that. Lives had been risked on his behalf and he had simply disappeared, not even staying enough to let the hospital staff do what they needed to do. Josh was disappointed. Maybe Riley had a good reason, maybe not. All Dad would say is that Riley Janssen had been given a hard life thus far, and was strongly disposed towards handling everything on his own.

"There's a reason why he does what he does," Dad had said. "It doesn't mean everything he does is right. It just means that it's gonna take a while before he really starts to trust other people or rely on anybody else."

_Maybe that's true_, Josh thought. _But I still would've expected him to at least take care of yourself, even if he doesn't give a rip about my sister, her boyfriend, and my other half._

Thinking about Chris bothered Josh so much that he just couldn't get any rest. He finally gave up and got dressed, grabbed his phone, and headed out the door and out onto the carpeted walkway looking out on the atrium, with its many plants, delicate flowers, and a running artificial waterfall.

"Going somewhere, Josh?"

Josh's heart stopped. He turned with some relief, glad it was Will and not Mom or Dad.

"Uh," Josh said intelligently, "Well, you see, I was just gonna go-"

"Sneak into the hospital and go see Chris?"

"Yeah." He paused. "How'd you know?"

"You looked worried. Really worried. And you hardly ever argue with Mom or Dad. I figured you might do something overnight."

"Are you gonna stop me?" Josh asked, a little defiantly. Maybe more than a little.

"I want you to stay here because that's what Chris would want you to do."

"If he hadn't gone and smashed up his ankle for that moron and his damn girlfriend, my brother would be here, and he could tell us himself what he'd want me to do!" Josh fired back, tears welling in his eyes.

"You're a Marshall, remember?" Will asked, grinning wryly. "Marshalls fight the good fight. No matter what."

"Lucky us," Josh grumbled.

"Would you wanna be anyone else?"

"No," Josh answered honestly. "I've got all the money and friends and connections I could want. I'm gonna live a good life. I'm sure of it. Mom and Dad will be there to open doors no matter where I wanna go or what I wanna do."

"Just so long as you go to The Citadel and join the Marines."

"Yeah."

Will was silent for a moment. He adjusted the bathrobe, which sat well on his lean shoulders.

"C'mon," he said to his older brother. "Sit over here. I need to ask you something."

Josh followed his younger sibling over to a coffee table and some comfortable-looking chairs, right on a balcony overlooking the atrium. Some perverse part of Josh wanted to tell Will to get bent and go see Chris no matter what it took. But he'd stayed at his twin's side for hours already, hospital rules were hospital rules, and… Will.

Will Marshall was gonna be something spectacular one day. All the elder Marshall children adored him, almost revered him. Will never ordered or argued or insisted about anything. He had not one egotistical bone in his body. It hurt him that some considered him weird, or a freak, because of the brains he'd been born with, but he held no grudges against the world nonetheless. He was one of the kindest, most generous and thoughtful people Josh had ever known. So Josh took a seat and looked attentively at the twelve-year-old genius, waiting for whatever he wanted to say, even though part of him still wanted to get out of here right this second.

For almost a minute, Will sat there with his elbows on his knees, not saying a word. He stared intently at the luxurious carpet and his Peter Millar sandals, deep in thought. Josh began to feel sleepy again and almost jumped out of his chair when Will finally said a few quiet words.

"Josh, I don't want to be a Marine. I want to join the Navy."

"Huh? Why?" Josh asked, almost as a reflex.

"The Navy's got the submarines," Will explained. "I want to command one of my own. I want to use all this stuff in my head to run my own boat and keep America safe. I want to be out there fighting the good fight, but I want to do it in Navy blue."

Josh stared at his younger brother, thunderstruck. He'd never heard of this interest before, never even dreamed it existed. Mom and Dad didn't expect their children to all make a career out of the Marines, but it was more or less assumed that you were going to The Citadel, that you would be commissioning into the Marine Corps after that. Will had been allowed to go to Hampden-Sydney College instead, and from there on to Cornell, because, well, Will was Will. Even Mom and Dad didn't argue that he wasn't special, unique and distinct in the best possible ways.

_But the Navy? The damn Navy? That's practically heresy or something._

"Wha- what- well, what's your question, then?" Josh finally managed to say.

"Do you support me? Will you back me up if I need you to do it?"

Josh had never given much thought to a future that didn't include the Marine Corps, not for himself, Chris, or Cassandra, anyway. But Will? He had never really considered it, but the Navy… that was unexpected, nonetheless.

"I don't know what Cass is gonna think, or Mom or Dad…" Josh began slowly.

"That's why I came to you first."

"Me?"

"Yes," Will said. "I trust you. I trust all of you guys, but, there's nobody I'd rather tell this to."

Josh looked at the young professor, the kid genius, surprised and touched. Will had always been a whiz for math, engineering, physics. History was simply the focus right now because it interested him, too. But submarines? The Silent Service would be gaining a truly extraordinary mind when the day came that Will Marshall joined them. And if Will had set his heart on it like this, it really was a matter of when, not if.

Tired as he was, scared for his twin and concerned for his girlfriend though he may have been, Josh Marshall, Junior found it in him to smile.

"Okay, man," he said. "The Navy it is. I can't wait to see you get those gold dolphins."

"You mean it?" Will asked anxiously. "You're with me?"

"Nothing I'd rather do, noplace I'd rather be."

A grin broke out on Will's handsome face, and he sprang up out of the chair, briefly just another kid. He ran over and hugged Josh as tightly as he could, surprising Josh with his strength. Josh hugged Will back, thankful, and hardly for the first time, that he had been born a Marshall, and that he had people like Will, Chris, Cassandra and Brittany to share his childhood with.

Plenty of people weren't so lucky.

After they finally separated, Will asked another question.

"So is Makayla Wallace really getting a Prefect's Medal?"

"Yes. That's a given. I've never seen anything like the artwork she's been doing."

"She sounds like a lousy student," Will said. Then he laughed. "But Cassandra thinks everybody's lousy if they don't measure up."

"Which is practically everybody."

"Yeah."

They both laughed at that one, partly just glad, each in their own way, to have someone to laugh with at a time like this. It was scary having a brother facing surgery tomorrow, especially with your big sister in the hospital, unable to push everyone around and tell you what was what. Cassandra had a hard time with her emotions. She had always struggled to show anyone she cared, so the hard outer shell was all that most people ever saw.

"All right," Will said at last. "I think we better get some rest. Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," Josh said honestly, smiling in relief. "Yeah, I do. You?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Sure thing, man."

"Is _Melissa_ gonna go to Parris Island with us for Christmas?" Will asked, grinning.

Josh blushed. "Well, what if she does?"

"Then it'll be good to have her around."

"Good."

"No more heroics, okay? I want us both telling Chris and Cassandra and Lukas that. We can take a break from being heroes. Seriously. We've done enough for now."

"Okay. No more heroics for now. I'll tell Brittany that, too. You wanna have a talk with her about the Navy?"

"Please don't tell anyone what I told you," Will asked. "I want to do it my own way. At the right time."

"Sure, man. No problem."

Will hugged Josh again. "I love you. I'm so glad I have my family."

Josh started to say something, but his eyes went blurry and his chest got all tight. He couldn't speak for almost a minute. Finally, he just managed to say, "Yeah, man. Me, too."

* * *

**XX**

* * *

**A/N: 3-26-2020.**

* * *

**If you liked any part of this chapter, don't forget to read "Adjustments" by Jenny wrens, an excellent story that I decided to start writing my own insights and additions for. Jenny wrens graciously accepted my efforts and so the storylines of the two works have been blended somewhat.**

**This chapter was written only through considerable effort and after much delay. My life has seen quite a lot of change since late 2019, and it looks like it will probably see more in 2020. Not change for the worse, not really; in fact, most things have improved for me. But I'm quite busy. Very busy. And with my laptop having inexplicably died on me, I have to make do with library computers and whatever else I can get access to.**

**This chapter is probably the least-focused one on "Adjustments" that I have written so far. It is meant to give a closer look at the Marshall family as they exist in late 2005, which has its uses for my work within the NCIS-verse. It is also meant to follow up on the car accident I depicted in the previous chapter as Cassandra, Chris and Lukas attempt- rather impulsively- to reach Makayla and Riley. Following up on that effectively more or less required that I write about the Marshalls and their side of events in this chapter.**

**Josh, Jr., Chris, and Cassandra may come across as harsh, judgmental or unforgiving towards Riley Janssen in this chapter. I would say it's more that they are simply tired and frustrated. Cassandra, Chris, and Lukas went to considerable risk and effort in trying to get Makayla and Riley to safety, and Riley, as they see it, fled the hospital quite recklessly. Patients are not supposed to leave hospitals whenever they like, especially not after taking the punishment Riley just did. He had his reasons, yes, but to Josh Jr., Chris, and Cassandra, it looks like recklessness and stupidity, as well as ingratitude. They don't actually hate him for it, but he's a convenient target for any frustrations they currently have.**

**Luke Ellis is a considerable source for inspiration in the character of William Marshall. Both are extremely intelligent, both are soft-spoken, eloquent, and polite, and love their families deeply. William Marshall possesses no supernatural abilities, but he is also luckier, and doesn't have the pointless cruelties inflicted on him that Luke does in Stephen King's "The Institute."**

**He is, however, quite lonely, much as Luke is. Unable to help being so intelligent and capable beyond his years, Will tends to come off as odd to people, or even intimidating. Luke Ellis unintentionally upsets a college-age girl early in "The Institute" by passing a difficult college admissions test that she fails; the pain of failing is made much worse for her by seeing a kid some six, seven, or eight years her junior succeed at the same test. Anyway. Whether or not any of this is interesting to any readers, I wanted to include these notes here.**

**Seatbelts really were an option in the United States all the way through to 1984, when New York became the first American state to make them mandatory. Maine, as I noted through Will's dialogue, was the last in 1995. 1995! Considering the fact that seatbelts for use in cars were first designed in 1946, that's quite a delay in what is now seen as a universal safety feature, one you can't imagine not having in an automobile.**

**I had originally intended to have Will confess his desire to join the U.S. Navy's submarine service and not the Marine Corps to his sister Cassandra, not to Josh, Jr., but as I was looking for a good ending point to this chapter, some alternative dialogue came to me and I went ahead and used it. The scene is about the same as it would have been. Cassandra would- and will be- even more surprised, but like Josh, she loves Will and would never take sides against him.**

**I can offer no timetable for when this story will be updated again. It depends heavily on my ability to find time and a computer to write with, both of which are proving elusive. I'll do the best I can. Make sure to read and review "Adjustments" by Jenny wrens, as her work is the original.**

**Reviews are always welcomed.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

* * *

**A/N: I estimated I wouldn't be back online until March 2020, and I did briefly resurface then. But my laptop died- I have no idea what happened; it just stopped turning on- and a long wait ensued while I worked to get a new one. But here I am!**

**Reading Jenny wrens' "Adjustments" has given me ideas for writing of my own, and her latest Chapter 26 and 27 were no exception. I am not any kind of SME (subject matter expert) on law enforcement in general or the Virginia Department of State Police, better known just as the Virginia State Police, in particular. I apologize for any inaccuracies.**

* * *

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Senior Trooper Braxton Ellis automatically scanned the entire 7-11 the instant he walked in the door. Even though no threats were present and he was, in fact, near the end of a long overnight shift, Ellis never fully relaxed. Even when he was off duty and out of uniform, he was paying close attention to his surroundings, to the behavior, body language, expressions, and words of others. It was habit by now; he'd been in the Virginia State Police for 10 years.

Of course, it was especially important to exercise constant vigilance when they handed you some new guy, practically straight out of the Academy, and said he had to go wherever you did until further notice. Rookies had a way of getting lost even in a 7-11, and in a crisis their lack of real-world experience could get them or someone else killed.

Thankfully, right now the worst mistake that Nick Edwards looked likely to make was getting too many snacks. He was still holding two handfuls of all manner of candy and chips when Ellis walked up behind him.

"Rook."

"Wha!" Edwards exclaimed, jumping a good inch off the tiled floor and dropping a bag of Skittles. "Man, what'd you have to scare me like that for?"

"Works every time," Ellis said with more than a little satisfaction.

"I know it works every time," Edwards grumbled, kneeling to pick up the bag of candy, "my question is why do you keep on doing it?"

"My car, my rules. Speaking of, we need to be getting back to it."

"You know, I think that car is actually state property."

"And it's been assigned to me. So, by circumstance, my car."

"Only an hour left, right?"

"Yeah. Let's not try to get too much sugar in your system before then, huh? Put a couple things back and let's go ring it up."

"All right."

**XX**

Northern Virginia could get cold indeed on these December mornings, and the 1996 Chevrolet Caprice that Ellis drove didn't enjoy them that much. The big V8 engine took a couple seconds to kick over, but once it did, the gas gauge swung up to full and Ellis smiled in satisfaction as he watched it, drinking the hot cup of cocoa he'd bought.

"Just a couple of days left for you," Ellis said, looking at the dashboard of the big car. He glanced at Edwards. "She's being retired. Been on the highway as long as I have. End of this year."

The other broad-shouldered trooper grinned as he adjusted his gray Campaign hat, the "Smokey Bear hat" as some called it. "Couple of old fossils make a great team, huh?"

Ellis reached out and yanked at a couple strands of Edwards' buzz-cut black hair.

"Ow!"

"You aren't gonna be in your early twenties forever, Nick. You better learn what you can from us old fossils because next thing you know, you'll be thirty yourself, wondering where the hell it all went."

"Aw, I gotta get another philosophy lecture?" Edwards mock-protested, pulling a pained expression.

"I'm telling you. You better learn what you can from guys like me. You get old fast in this line of work."

"I know," Edwards answered seriously. "And I am paying attention. I just like to make jokes."

"That's fine. Just remember you gotta have your game face on in this job. Most of the time, anyway."

Ellis got the Caprice moving and out into traffic, noting how everybody was a lot more careful and conservative than they were when he was driving an unmarked car, or the Harley or Chevy Tahoe he owned. A marked police car doubled as a pace car anytime Joe Public could see it.

"We got any news on that BOLO from the other day?" Edwards asked.

"What, that kid? The one that looks like a damn jarhead? Nah. He'll turn up sometime. One thing you learn in this job, Ellis- nobody can run forever. Especially from themselves."

"You think the kid's running from himself?"

"I think-"

"All units, be advised: We have multiple reports of shots fired at a home in Fairfax County. Available units please respond."

Ellis recognized that voice. It was Connie West, the main overnight dispatcher for Division VII, the State Police unit detailed to patrol the northernmost counties of Virginia. She had a strong Maine accent that made her a little hard to understand at first, but that didn't stop her from being one hell of a dispatcher. She knew all the veteran troopers by name and most of the rookies as well, and could stay on top of forty different developing situations at once.

Before Ellis could, Edwards keyed his own mike. "Dispatch, this is Unit 91. What's the address for the shots fired?"

"Unit 91, Dispatch. The address is 222 Chadwell Road, so-"

The blond trooper jumped as if struck by a pin. "Holy hell, that's my fuckin' _house_!"

"-better tell Braxton somebody broke into his house."

They were sitting at a red light behind a growling Fairfax County Public Schools bus and a blue Ford Windstar minivan. Ellis calmly activated the lights and siren, turned to the left and floored it straight past both vehicles. Inside them, adults and kids stared, wide-eyed, doubtless wondering where the cops were going this time.

Maneuvering out of regular traffic lanes and flying clear into an intersection carried considerable risks. With the rise of powerful audio systems in cars, even factory ones, the screaming of emergency vehicle sirens could easily be overlooked and ignored. Plenty of first responders had gotten hit that way, hence the growing trend toward requiring them to stop at the edge of the intersection before proceeding. It wasted time, but then so did getting rammed and becoming a casualty.

As the Caprice picked up speed, the roar of its Corvette engine grew to an all-out howl. Nonetheless, Ellis could hear the rookie doing his best to control his voice as he said, "Dispatch, Braxton is aware. He appreciates the chance to go catch a burglar."

Great, Edwards wanted to try a joke. Probably in an effort to stay calm, which was fine, except he was trying that with Connie, which was not.

Connie West came back on the air fast, her Northern accent very loud indeed, exaggerated as it was by times of considerable stress or irritation.

"Nick, you cut that out right now. Use your damn head for something other than a hat rack. Unlock the shotgun and get it ready." A pause. "We have four units responding including you, plus four more from Fairfax County. Get a move on and be ready for anything, you understand me? You're not in the Academy anymore."

Edwards paled and swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am." He reached for the keys on his equipment belt and promptly dropped them on the floor, then knocked his head against the passenger door as Ellis swung around a Honda Accord driven by some early morning commuter who wasn't paying attention.

"Listen," Ellis said. "When we get there, be ready for anything. And I mean anything. Stay cool, remember your training. Do what I say. You'll be fine."

"Jesus," Edwards breathed, looking every bit the nervous rookie he was. He picked up the keys, though, and unlocked the pump-action shotgun from its rack with steady hands. "Okay. How far are we out?"

"Five minutes."

That short time proved deceptively long as Ellis had to reroute around some roadwork, brake hard to avoid running into a motorist who for some reason slammed on their own brakes upon seeing the flashing blue lights, and dodge a group of kids who were out in the middle of the street horsing around. Ellis managed it all with the practiced ease of a veteran, rarely dropping below 95 miles per hour. They were the first ones on the scene and Ellis radioed that in as he slowed and pulled over near his house. Other units would be blocking off roads in a wide radius around 222 Chadwell, forming a cordon in case whoever had fired the shots- or whoever had been shot at- tried to flee by vehicle or on foot.

With the lights flashing, covering the area in a mix of white and blue light just as the sun began to come up over the horizon, Ellis got out and drew his Glock sidearm. Edwards got out on the passenger side and pumped the shotgun, which was always kept with a full 6 shells in the tube. One in the chamber plus five in reserve would be more than enough.

As he advanced, Ellis saw a second State Police car speed up to the curb from the opposite end of Chadwell Road. John Parks and Douglas Camden, a pair of black troopers from Chesterfield County, men Ellis knew and trusted, leapt out, weapons at the ready. A quick exchange of hand signals meant the four troopers had a plan made in only a few seconds.

Attack.

No updates had come indicating that anyone had left the house since the calls of the shots fired came in, meaning whoever had done the shooting was almost certainly still in there. The troopers advanced at a low crouch, Ellis and Edwards heading for the front door while Parks and Camden rapidly headed for the back. Whoever was in there would not be a problem for much longer, whether they came out dead or alive.

Ellis moved forward, flicking off the safety of the Glock as he went. He kept it low, but knew exactly how to snap it up and fire off aimed shots in an instant if he needed to. His heart pounded in his chest, and Ellis privately doubted he looked much better than the nervous rookie behind him. Going into life or death situations with little idea of what to expect, what the outcome would be, never got any easier. You never quite got used to the notion that you might not be alive tomorrow morning if this call went south in a hurry.

Just as Ellis was getting close to the front door of his house, he saw movement inside. The front door opened, and man with neat black hair came into view. Ellis dropped to one knee when he saw the sidearm at the man's hip.

"Gun, gun, gun!" he called to Edwards.

As the other man opened the glass storm door, he displayed a badge of some kind. Ellis was in full combat mode now, however, which meant he didn't like anyone he didn't know making moves he couldn't predict. He raised the Glock, keeping it aimed at the upper concrete steps, just barely below the man's feet. Ellis knew he could score a hit if he needed to, and the other guy had to know it, too. He kept very still and held the badge up for the troopers to see.

"Stay where you are, sir!" Ellis called out.

"Easy, boys," the dark-haired man called out. "We're on the same side. NCIS here. My people are inside."

Ellis hesitated, knowing this could well be a trick, a trap. He decided to try something, having been on a couple crime scenes where NCIS got called in the past.

"If you're NCIS, was Special Agent Gibbs in the Coast Guard or the Navy?"

The other man actually laughed at that. "Neither. He's a Marine."

"An officer?"

"A gunnery sergeant."

That did it. Ellis relaxed. He stood up and holstered his sidearm, carefully walking the rest of the way to the man with the still-displayed badge. As he got closer, the man offered his ID card as well.

"Agent Timothy McGee," Ellis read aloud. He looked up again. "You know Admiral McGee?"

"I sure do, since he's my dad."

"All right. I'm Senior Trooper Braxton Ellis; behind me is Trooper Nicholas Edwards. Who else is inside? What's going on here? We got multiple reports of shots fired at this address."

"There was a hostage situation, part of an NCIS case. My boss is in here, plus-"

"Just let 'em in, McGee, for Chrissakes," a grouchy-sounding older man said, coming to the door. The steel-gray hair and stern expression told Ellis what he already knew- this was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Special Agent Gibbs, sir," Ellis said, nodding. His chest still felt tight, but he was glad to see someone he knew and respected. The two men lived across the street from each other, and were cordial, if distant neighbors. Their respective law enforcement professions kept them quite busy, but Ellis had obligingly kept quiet about the fact that Gibbs worked for NCIS.

It was debatable as to whether the neighbors knew what Gibbs did for a living, or whether they would learn anything new after this, but that was an issue for another time.

"Come inside," Gibbs responded. "It'll be a lot easier to explain everything with all four of you guys here at once."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

After forty minutes of back-and-forth, Ellis finally had all the facts straight. A Marine deserter, Lance Corporal Michael Trace, had kidnapped the kid that BOLO had been put out on, Riley Janssen, plus a little girl Agent Gibbs had just adopted, Janessa Gibbs. While standing in his own living room, looking at the dead man in the kitchen, Ellis had some difficulty concentrating but did his best. He had seen death before, some of it at his hands, but never in his own house. Still, professionalism demanded that Ellis gather the information now and see to personal concerns later.

A young girl with shoulder-length red hair kept peeking in and out from one of the spare bedrooms, along with a young man Ellis recognized from the BOLO. He got nervous about these unknown parties and demanded they come out front, which didn't do any good for the girl's nerves. The kid actually glared at Ellis some, but he went right ahead with his questioning. Gibbs was accompanied by the little girl, who looked terribly frightened of all these tall adults wielding firearms.

Edwards, who had kept the shotgun for a room-to-room search with Parks, looked greener by the minute and finally threw up in the kitchen sink. The steel-nerved Israeli agent that was serving some kind of exchange tour with NCIS didn't appreciate that, but then again, her expression seemed pretty solemn most of the time anyway. That may have even been her look for conveying sympathy.

Finally, after hashing out a hundred details of who had jurisdiction over what and who would stay and handle traffic control and so on, Ellis had it all covered and Connie was satisfied that a proper report could be made. She was also satisfied that the responding officers and troopers were all safe, something she took a personal interest in.

That meant that Ellis could let his guard down a little more. He was privately quite uncomfortable with all these strangers in his house, a dead man in his kitchen, and especially that a minor in Agent Gibbs' care had evidently just wandered into the scene on her own right before the Mossad agent, Ziva, had fatally shot Michael Trace.

"I need to say something," Edwards said quietly, standing right beside Ellis.

"What?"

"I know him," the younger trooper answered. "Michael Trace. I did." He sighed. "I wish I hadn't- I didn't want to-"

"How did you know him?" Agent Gibbs asked.

Edwards took a seat on his own on the living room sofa, putting his head in his hands and muttering to himself. "He was always a bastard."

"But how did you know him?" Gibbs repeated.

Edwards looked up. "He was my foster brother, sir."

"And?"

"Well, a while back, he- we ran away from home. Our- the foster place. It was- we hated it there. I hated him, too, but, he made me think we'd be better off together, that things would be different. Better, if I trusted him. He even made up that last name, Trace. He said "We'll vanish without a trace," and- yeah." Edwards looked into the kitchen, paled and shuddered.

"We got to this train station and he said he'd watch my bag. He took everything and disappeared while I was in the bathroom. I had no money, nothing. He just robbed me and left. I gave myself up and wound up in another foster home. This old State Police first sergeant and his wife. I thought I was done with Mike. He always liked manipulating people, tricking them, getting them to do what he wanted. Using them." Edwards paused. "He was rotten. He was never any good. Not to anyone. Just- some people are like that. I guess."

"You don't have to stay here on the scene if you don't want to," Ellis offered.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"If everyone's okay, sir, where's my dog?" Ellis asked finally, turning to Gibbs. "Where's Lobslinger?"

"Out back in the shed," Riley Janssen answered, glowering at Ellis. He definitely hadn't liked the way Ellis had read the riot act to Makaya Wallace for her reckless intrusion into a hostage situation. Agent DiNozzo, on the other hand, all but joined in.

"Is he okay?" Ellis blurted. "Did anyone let him out?"

"We moved him to our car, since your entire house is a crime scene," Camden replied. "He was cold, but he's okay."

"Agent Gibbs, unless you need us for something, we'll be outside," Ellis said.

"Just keep the public at a distance," Gibbs replied. "We'll have Forensics out here soon."

"Right." Ellis headed for the door.

"Mister Trooper Mans?" the little girl squeaked, still half-hidden behind Gibbs.

"Yes?" Ellis asked, a little more tersely than he'd intended. This whole thing had been hell on his nerves and he was long overdue to go off duty.

"Can I sees the dog? Isshe gonna bite?"

Thinking of what a pain Lobslinger must have made himself to get locked in a shed out in the cold like that, Ellis answered, "Well, you can see him if Agent Gibbs says so. Lobslinger won't bite."

"He bit Trace," Riley Janssen interjected, still glaring at Ellis. Makayla Wallace, who still looked ready to start crying again, glanced at Ellis and quickly looked away.

"He won't bite unless you make him mad," Ellis amended. "He must have really disliked Michael Trace. I never saw Lobslinger bite anybody."

"I think your dog knew some things about Mike," Edwards spoke up. "He probably saw right through him. I bet Mike hated that."

"Maybe all that barking woke up some of the neighbors," Agent McGee speculated. "I'm surprised Trace didn't do something about it."

"If he'd had more time, he probably would have," Ellis said. "So, Agent Gibbs- if you feel like it, we can go see Lobslinger."

"Would you like that, Janessa?" Gibbs asked, turning to look down at the little girl.

"Yes, yes!" Janessa exclaimed. "I likes dogs so much, Daddy! They likes hugs and kisses and treats!"

"In other words, just like you, right?"

"Yep, yep, yep!"

The assembled agents and officers couldn't quite help smiling at that. Despite the severity of what had just happened here, the dead body lying in the kitchen, this little kid somehow was already bouncing back. Her time as a hostage hadn't taken away her evidently-abundant natural charm and good cheer. That was a relief to see.

Ellis led the veteran NCIS agent and his adopted daughter out to one of the many police cruisers idling at the curb. A rough-coated collie was sitting in the back of one, resting under a blanket, but he sprang up and began barking and whining when he heard the voices approaching. Upon seeing Ellis, Lobslinger started pawing at the Ford's window. And when the rear right door was opened, the collie flew out and practically tackled his owner to the ground. Ellis lay on his back trying to fend off Lobslinger's licking, but that did him little good. The little girl was delighted by the whole thing and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

When Lobslinger finally calmed down a little, he went over to Janessa Gibbs and sniffed at her, tickling her with his nose, before settling down on the lawn to enjoy her eager attempts to pet him. She kept calling him "Lob-Sicker," "Lobster," or "Lob-Singer." The name Dad had insisted on, being the history buff he was, was a little hard to get straight for someone that young.

Ellis had to fight not to cry; he had been afraid for Lobslinger, terribly afraid. It was a joy to see that the collie was unharmed, no worse for the wear after all that time out in the shed. Many criminals had no problem killing a pet that inconvenienced them in any way. Lobslinger would never have been in any danger at all had Trace simply chosen somewhere else to hide… but why he had picked a house across the street from the NCIS agent whose daughter he had kidnapped was a mystery.

After cleaning himself up a little, Ellis went to join the troopers and Fairfax officers handling traffic in the area, where he stayed for another hour. Lobslinger, he later learned, tried to follow Janessa and Agent Gibbs back to their house across the street, but Nick Edwards gently brought him back each time. Little Janessa seemed to make friends easily.

Shaken as he was by the incident, Ellis felt nothing but relief now that it was over. No one was likely to mourn the passing of Michael Trace, who, no matter what hardships he may have experienced over the years, was solely responsible for the choices he'd ultimately come to make. Ellis knew it would be a while before his house could be restored and lived in again, but wherever the state put him up in the meantime would do just fine. He had his books, his Harley, his Tahoe and his dog, and he required little else.

* * *

**A/N: 4-25-2020.**

**Chapter 27 of "Adjustments" gave me the idea that the shots fired in the confrontation with Trace would surely have been heard and reported by the neighbors. Multiple reports of the shooting would only do more to draw police attention to the area, and so Virginia State Police troopers and Fairfax County officers alike dropped everything and raced to the site. My overall goal was to depict the response that might have come from the shooting, and the inevitable involvement of state and local police.**

**The Virginia State Police does not use the rank of corporal as some law enforcement agencies do. Troopers start on a probationary status of approximately one year, and after 9-10 years service are given the rank of Senior Trooper.**

**Jenny wrens gave no indication that I could find of who lived at the 222 address or what kind of dog Lobslinger was. That's a heck of a name! So I assigned it to a rough-coated collie and a divorced State Trooper.  
**

**UPDATE: Jenny wrens mentioned in a recent PM that the owner of the dog was to be an old man with an interest in history; slingshots and such, I imagine. Lob, meaning to throw, and slinger, you know, slinging stones and such. Anyway, what I came up with was different, but it works for both of us. Our two stories each benefit the other.**

**Reviews are always welcome.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

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The night had not been kind to Josh Marshall, Junior. Despite the moving talk he'd had with the family genius, Will, being separated from his twin for more than a few hours for the first time in his life took too much of a toll. Long after Will had gone to bed, Josh was up, pacing the floor of his room.

_I almost lost two siblings_, Josh thought again and again. _That truck could've killed them. They did what we Marshalls always do; raced headlong into danger because someone needed their help. But what was it for? What was the fucking point? Riley Janssen's disappeared. He escaped from the hospital, ran out on us._

A less noble, less compassionate side of Josh wanted to get some payback for that. It struck him as flat-out dishonorable to run off after someone risked their neck to help you, and stupid besides if you were seriously injured, which Riley Janssen apparently was. That made Josh furious, and he knew his parents were well-connected. He could make life hard for that idiot if he wanted to.

_But… I doubt Mom or Dad would approve. Mom would say I should think more compassionately, forgive even if forgiveness isn't always deserved. And she and Dad would both say that running down random kids who lack good sense isn't worth a Marshall's time._

Maybe Riley Janssen would prove himself to be worth all the trouble others had gone to on his behalf, given enough time. Josh figured that was at least possible. But he also made up his mind, before finally going to sleep for the night, that Riley Janssen was nothing to him. He didn't plan on asking his parents to find out where the guy had gone. The Marshalls, together with the incomparable Lukas Shepard, had bailed him out of trouble, and he'd rolled right on. So would his saviors, and the ones they knew and loved.

Josh knew it was a harsh way to view someone, especially this time of the year, but it was just how he felt, and how he knew Cassandra, who had always been and probably always would be a harsh and intolerant judge of character, would feel. He didn't relish feeling anger like this towards someone, but he had always been taught that honesty and integrity mattered a great deal. Possibly more than anything else.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Thomas Marshall arrived at the Embassy Suites hotel where his son, daughter-in-law, and three of his grandchildren were staying at exactly six in the morning. He waited in the lobby patiently for his son to turn up, and sure enough, he did, coming downstairs to make arrangements for his family to rent out one of the private dining rooms for breakfast. He was so intent on his mission, in fact, that he didn't notice his father sitting on one of the comfortable lobby armchairs until after he had finished talking to the clerk at the front desk.

Josh was dressed like the man of wealth and taste that he was; his broad shoulders and tough warrior's frame were decorated with a hand-tailored Brooks Brothers suit and a silk maroon tie. His black leather shoes gleamed like grounded stars, and he was bright-eyed and clean-shaven. His red hair was just beginning to show hints of grey, but he had the strength of a hundred lesser men, inside and out. It was hard to believe he'd lived with so little for the first fourteen years of his life. Things had changed immensely since then, and Thomas Marshall took quiet pride every day in the part he had played in Josh's rise to a better life.

"Dad," Josh Marshall, Senior exclaimed, hurrying over with an eager enthusiasm that belied his 45 years. He grinned, shaking hands with his adoptive father. "You told me you'd be here 'soon,' you didn't say 'a couple of hours'!"

"Don't forget, son," Thomas Marshall said, "I'm not that old. I can move when I want to."

"Aw, hell, Dad," Josh grunted, and he hugged Thomas tightly. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah, yeah," Thomas said gruffly, "now lemme go or people're gonna think we got somethin' goin' on."

"The kids are gonna love seeing you. They always do."

"I wouldn't miss 'em for the world," Thomas answered. "Especially right now." He paused, then added, "Any news on Chris?"

"He's going in for surgery this morning," Josh answered. "That's all we know. I've got a friend up top at the hospital; he says he'll make sure Chris gets only the best. Chances are good that he'll make it out all right."

"What about Cassandra and- what was his name?"

"Lukas and Cassandra are doing fine," Josh replied. "Cassandra's more shaken up than she wants to admit. Doesn't like that she lost her car, but she's even more upset about the guy they went to save running out on everybody."

"Who just up and leaves a hospital just after getting there?" Thomas asked, bewildered.

"I don't know, Dad. This kid's pretty mixed up. He's tough but he can't seem to listen or trust people. I'm glad he's not my problem at this point."

"How's Junior?"

"He's being tough for Melissa, his girlfriend, and he was delighted to see Will make it down here late yesterday. But he's having a rough time being separated from Chris. They've almost never been apart since they were born."

"I imagine Brittany's doing okay?"

"Yes. She's trying to stay positive about the whole thing, but she watches Josh and Cassandra closely, and they're not happy this turned out like it did."

"Now, who's this Melissa you mentioned?"

"Melissa Wallace, Dad. Her parents are big-shot lawyers, lots of connections in Washington. They're off on business now, some secret squirrel shit. Even my friends aren't entirely sure what it is. Josh was hoping to meet them. He and Melissa haven't been together real long, but they're getting serious from what I can see."

"You approve, son?"

"I do. I told the kids they should look for good boys and girls, people who're somebodies. Melissa comes from a fine family. Her mom's a hard charger, but she gets results, and her dad's a real gentleman who'll ruin your day in the courtroom if you ever underestimate him."

"Well, when do I get to meet the young lady?"

"Soon as I get everyone up, Dad. And Elizabeth and I are still figuring things out, so, we may have to step out for some phone calls. Main thing is getting the Board of Governors at Xavier to okay us taking care of Melissa for now. Her parents can't be reached."

"Doesn't she have any other family?"

"None that are close. Her aunt's overseas; that's all I could find out, and she's the only one Melissa stays with when she's not with her parents. She's worried about her sister, too, so, that may come up."

"Her sister?"

"Oh, man," Josh sighed. "Dad, it's a long story. Melissa's got her shit together. She knows who she is and where she wants to go in life. She's got drive, ability. She applies both. But Makayla's doing it all the hard way. She's a Wallace, too, but she doesn't seem to know when to listen."

Thomas cracked a smile. "Well, not a problem the Marshalls have to deal with, now is it?"

"No, Dad. I've got no patience for anyone who challenges my authority. Not even my kids. I'm fair but my word is law in my house."

"Ah, so just like the old days, huh? Back in 1974, when it all started?"

Josh's face clouded over. "Dad," he said gently, "You did a great job with me and Chris. You really did. But could we not talk about those days right now?"

"Sure thing, son," Thomas agreed readily. He knew Josh had lived a hard live prior to being adopted alongside his pint-sized brother and even now didn't like to talk about it. He loved Thomas with all his heart and there had never been any hard feelings between them.

"I'm gonna go upstairs and sound reveille. You wanna come along?"

"Oh, you bet," the old Marine noncom said, grinning from ear to ear. "I think I know just the thing that'll wake 'em up…"

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Josh was passed out in his bed when a bugle started blaring the notes of "Reveille" right next to his ear. He thrashed around wildly, trying to get the bugle or the bugler, but Will was prepared for that and jumped out of the way.

"Goddamn it," Josh shouted finally, "I'm tryin' to fuckin' sleep!"

With that, Josh sprang out from under the covers in his boxers, sprang for Will and narrowly missed him. Will, who was still playing the final notes, dashed into the bathroom as Josh furiously chased after him.

"I'm gonna get you for this!" Josh yelled, banging on the door.

"My family will avenge me!"

"You-" Josh broke off, noticing Melissa for the first time. She got what must have been a fantastic view of him in his underwear, because her face lit up even as she turned bright red. "Aw, shit," Josh blurted, hurriedly closing the bedroom door.

"Did it work?" Brittany called, knocking at the door. Josh heard it open.

"Sure did," Melissa said. "He's hiding in the bedroom now."

"I'm not hiding!"

"Yes, he is!" Will cried. "He's hiding because his gym muscles aren't big enough!"

"Will, you come out of there or I swear I'm gonna make you pay until-"

"Now you just sound like Cass does when she's mad!"

Josh growled and tugged on the door handle to the bathroom. "You little twerp!"

"Josh, be nice to your brother."

"Okay, okay." Josh sighed and knocked on the bathroom door, giving the sign of a sibling truce.

Will came out promptly and grinned at Josh, who glowered, fighting the urge to tackle him and tie the little genius up. "Who put you up to this?" Josh demanded. "Tell me that."

"Melissa," Will answered.

"What?" Josh asked in disbelief. "How- what- why?"

"I'm sworn to secrecy."

Josh lunged for Will but he anticipated that and fled with incredible speed, running out into the living room area. Josh reluctantly passed on chasing after him in order to close the door again. He went into the bathroom and got the shower going, nice and steamy, so he could relax a little more while he shaved and got ready for the day. Only once he was wearing his favorite aftershave, teeth meticulously brushed and his hair neatly styled and conditioned, did Josh come back out.

"Well," Josh said, glaring at Will, "it's good to see most of you."

"Great way to start the day, Will," Brittany complimented her younger brother. "Where'd you get the bugle?"

"Shh."

"I should throw you out into the atrium," Josh said, trying to be as menacing as possible.

"Is this what you guys do all the time?" Melissa asked, blinking in surprise.

"Well, it's- complicated," Josh said. "Dad wants us to be like, I dunno, the Malfoys, I guess. You know, Harry Potter?"

"Oh, yeah. Okay. So, what about the other stuff?"

"Yeah, so, we're also a Marine family. We mess with each other all the time. Grandpa's the worst about it. I'm sure he at least handed over the bugle."

"Am I gonna be all right in the middle of all this?" Melissa asked uncertainly.

"Listen, Missy," Josh said, his voice softening. "We won't mess with you, I promise. Everything's gonna be all right."

"I'm glad we have you here," Will said earnestly, looking up at her. "I heard you were smart and beautiful, and whenever Josh talks about you, he says the nicest things-"

"Will!" both Josh and Melissa protested, turning bright red.

"Lookitem," Brittany giggled. "This is fun."

"Everyone up?" Dad asked, almost gliding into the doorway. "Breakfast is ready downstairs."

"Dad, where did Will get that bugle he's holding?" Josh asked before he could stop himself.

"Oh," Dad said dismissively, "a Marshall can find anything when there's a need for it. By the way, Will, that needs to go back where it came from when we leave."

"Yes, sir." Will grinned. "So… Grandpa's car."

"What?" Josh almost yelped. "How did _he _get involved in-"

"Everybody still alive?" a familiar voice called out, and with a cry of excitement Josh, Brittany and Will all scrambled to get past Melissa, then Dad, then run up to Thomas Marshall and give him a hug. They practically tackled him in doing so; in the fiercely-militaristic Marshall family, greetings after long separations were practically a form of hand-to-hand combat.

Josh felt a million times better after he'd hugged the legend he had for a grandfather. Thomas Marshall, veteran of three wars, recipient of every last one of the United States of America's top decorations for valor on the battlefield. A great, brave man. He had played an essential role in Dad becoming the man that he was and was dearly loved by his grandchildren.

Melissa hung around in the background, still visibly unsure if she belonged there, but Josh remembered her quickly enough. He drew himself to his full height and offered his arm.

"Melissa Wallace," Josh said, "would you care to go downstairs and eat breakfast with me and my family?"

"That would be very nice," Melissa answered. "I'd certainly like to."

Josh bowed his head and kissed her on the cheek, whispering, "I love you," in her ear.

Melissa turned bright red again, but she couldn't keep herself from smiling. It was obvious she was pleased.

Josh made the walk to the elevator an effortless, easy affair, chattering on about Xavier-Woodberry Forest sports statistics, the imminent end of the fall semester, and the upcoming Christmas break, keeping up a steady stream of dialogue as if he didn't have a care in the world.

It was the least he could do for Melissa. Even if her sister was a hardheaded fool most of the time, she was still family. Until they were able to find out more about what Makayla was up to and where she was located currently, Josh would help make her feel at ease. It was just the right thing to do. He was crazy about Missy, even if he was mostly so-so about her sister.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

The Marshall elders made quite a sight at the head of the long, well-polished hardwood dining table in the private room that had been set aside for the family. Dad and Grandpa in their subtle, yet superbly-made suits, Mom in a sharp-looking charcoal suit of her own. Josh, wearing a pair of new Nike running shoes, Peter Millar pants and a gray-and-garnet striped polo, plus a Brooks Brothers V-neck sweater, almost felt underdressed by comparison.

"Melissa," Mom said as she greeted the teenager. "I have to say, I am so glad to finally meet you. Joshua has been singing your praises since your first date with him."

Both teens blushed and shuffled their feet. "Aw, Mom," Josh said, feeling embarrassed.

"Missus Marshall," Melissa said politely, "It's been good to meet you."

"My son has always been respectful of women," Dad said pleasantly. "You can be sure he's only been a gentleman when speaking about you."

"Yes, sir."

"Someone this pretty, you better treat her like a queen," Granpda commented slyly. "Some charming young man's liable to steal her from you if you don't."

"Grandpa!"

"I'm just messin' with you, guy," Grandpa said, ruffling Josh's hair.

As they all took their seats, Mom led the family in prayer. After that they were free to appreciate the feast that the hotel staff had prepared. It was stunning, magnificent- both in quality, and in sheer volume. There were plates and trays of everything you could possibly want for breakfast, and a note indicating service was on call in case more was needed, or something was actually missing.

Helping himself to some generous servings of French toast, fried eggs, scrambled eggs and sausage, Josh raised the question he knew Melissa wanted answered.

"Do we know anything about where Makayla Wallace is?"

"She's with Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs over the break," Mom answered.

"Yes, Mom, but she'd wandered off or something last I heard. Like that Riley kid."

"Real genius right there," Brittany added sarcastically.

"I've got a name, you know," Will added dryly.

"Oh, hush, Will; you know I didn't mean you."

"What, I'm not a genius?"

"You know that's not what I meant!"

"Did I?"

"Will," Mom cautioned him. "Melissa, your sister is almost certainly with Agent Gibbs right now. He has custody of her. It's what her parents decided was best, so the Board has no reason to contradict their decision."

"I just hope she's all right," Melissa said quietly. "Maybe- maybe we don't get along, but I worry about her."

"She's family," Dad said. "And family is everything."

"Can we try to confirm it somehow, where Makayla is?" Josh asked.

"I'll see what I can do," Mom promised. "Your sister's fine, Makayla. I know it."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"You're most welcome."

"Mom, Dad?" Josh asked after knocking out half the plate in about two minutes. "Where's Director Shepard? Melissa can't reach her and she was supposed to be staying with her during the break coming up."

"Your aunt is out of the country," Dad told Melissa. "Some friends of mine in the Navy Department and in the State Department were able to find out, but all I can freely say is that she is safe. The work she is doing is absolutely essential to the NCIS mission, and she does not have the privilege of reaching out to you right now."

"I can stay at school if I need to," Melissa said, a little hastily. "It's not a problem."

"Missy, you'll almost be by yourself."

"Plenty of kids stay."

"More than half don't."

"I'll be all right," Melissa protested.

Josh started to argue, but Will kicked him under the table and gave him a warning look even before Mom and Dad could.

Let it go, Will's eyes said.

Reluctantly, Josh decided he would. Maybe he'd talk to Melissa about it again later, in private. He wanted to do some 'talking' in private right now, especially with his shirt off; Melissa loved the little conversations they had that way. But this wasn't the time for that. The mood should have been light and breezy, relaxed and fun, but instead good people were in the hospital, having risked much for someone who may not have deserved it. An easy, carefree end to the semester was apparently not in the cards this year.

"So when are we going to see Chris, Cassie and Lukas?" Brittany asked.

"As soon as we're all ready to go," Dad replied. "Your granddad, Elizabeth and I will stay in the area until the semester ends at Xavier. Then we'll be going back to Parris Island."

"Can we make sure everything's gonna be okay for Melissa before we go?"

"We'll ensure she's completely taken care of."

Josh beamed proudly. "See, Missy, it's like Woodes likes to say. Xavier is for the elite, the best. People like us. And friends like that never let you down."

"Modest, Josh," Brittany commented. "So modest."

"If you're arrogant because you're the best," Josh pronounced, "you're still the best."

"Thank you, everyone, for all the support," Melissa said quietly. "It means a lot to me. I'll be okay. I just wanna know for sure that my sister's all right."

"Don't worry, Melissa," Mom told her. "We'll find out. We'll take care of everything."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Josh had been a rock all through yesterday, but the strain of being separated from his twin brother, and the worry about his imminent surgery, was beginning to show. Dark circles were evident under his eyes, despite his efforts to hide them, and several times she spotted her boyfriend staring listlessly into nothing, lost in his fearful thoughts.

Whenever he noticed her looking at him, though, Josh would perk up and make a show of being confident, unconcerned. He was too set on keeping her spirits up to properly pay attention to his own.

Dr. Drayton, the Chief of Medicine himself, came out to meet the Marshalls when they arrived in the family Suburban.

"Good morning, Josh," the white-coated, distinguished-looking man said, shaking hands with Josh's father and namesake. He gave an obsequious smile to Mrs. Marshall, then to Brittany, Josh, and Melissa herself. "Good to see you again, Elizabeth. Good to finally meet you, Junior, Brittany. And who's your pretty friend, Junior?"

"Melissa Wallace," Melissa said, answering for herself. "It's good to meet you, sir."

"Well, I can say that Cassandra is well, if ill-tempered. She wasn't at all pleased until we let her and Lukas Shepard do some visiting. Those two are very close; doesn't take long to see that. Lukas, I think, is trying to befriend the whole staff while he's here. He's doing just fine. Both of them can be released today with no reservations."

"What about Chris?" Josh demanded, his voice strained. "What about my brother?"

Dr. Drayton hesitated. "Well, he was supposed to go in an hour ago. Everything was on schedule. But he's refusing to let anyone near him now, and Cassandra got into it and now she won't even let anyone into the room."

"Why?" Mrs. Marshall asked.

"He says he wants to see his brother," Dr. Drayton answered. "Says he's scared. Nothing we tried would calm him down."

"David," Mr. Marshall said sternly, "I don't care what hour it is, with something like this, you call me directly."

"I understand that, Josh," Dr. Drayton answered. "We were hoping to get it resolved before you got here. And as I said, it's only been an hour. We would have called had Chris been scheduled earlier in the morning."

"Well, I can understand that," Mr. Marshall said with some reluctance. "May we go see him now?"

"I think Junior had better go in first," Dr. Drayton cautioned. "Cassandra's gotten too protective."

"Protective?" Melissa asked as they started walking toward the visitor entrance doors.

"Yes. Very. First it was just words, but then she started throwing trays. Apparently someone forgot a stack of them in there when it was vacant for a while. Cassandra's aim is very good and we're afraid of creating even more noise and disturbing the other patients."

"I'd better have a talk with Cassandra about this behavior," Mr. Marshall began, visibly displeased, but Dr. Drayton cautiously held up a hand.

"She's doing it for the right kind of reason, Josh, if I can say so myself. I saw her, and she's pretty scared herself. Chris is frightened out of his mind, and Cassandra can't calm him down herself, so that's got her scared. I think if Josh can go in there it'll help everything."

"You better get moving," Mr. Marshall decided.

"Yes, Dad," Josh agreed. He turned to Melissa. "I'll see you inside."

With that, Josh separated from his family and practically sprinted into the hospital.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Cassandra was upset. No, more than that, she was pissed off. Chris was going nuts about his imminent surgery and had decided he just wasn't going anywhere unless he could talk to his brother. They had no access to a phone, so holding down a makeshift fort here and now was all they could do. Cassandra flung another tray as she saw a shadow come into view, barking a warning into the hallway.

"I said get outta here!" Cassandra yelled. "You stay out, you hear me?"

"Honey, your brother's here," a nurse said evenly. "Josh is with me."

"Well, let me hear him say something, then!"

"Hey, Cass."

"Get in here, you idiot!" Cassandra snapped. "Get in here right now!"

Josh entered the room slowly, cautiously. He tried a weak smile. "Hey, Cass."

Before Cassandra could say anything, Chris sat bolt upright in bed and cried out "Josh!"

"Chris!"

Josh ran past Cassandra to embrace his brother. The twins made some strained, inarticulate noises, and then they started crying. Cassandra snorted in irritation and crossed her arms on her chest, turning away, but then her eyes started getting blurry, too. The stress of barely sleeping at all last night, the guilt she couldn't shake about nearly getting Lukas and Chris killed over nothing, and now the sight of the twins reuniting after the longest night of their lives was a bit much. Cassandra cleared her throat repeatedly and blinked furiously. She wasn't crying. Warriors didn't cry. She wasn't upset.

"Missed you," Chris choked out, his voice muffled against Josh's shoulder.

"I-I missed you, too," Josh managed to say.

When Chris finally let go of his brother, the twins shook hands and held the gesture. They apparently needed the assurance of that physical contact. They were not used to being apart and when one of them was hurt or in danger, that put extra strain on both of them.

"Dr. Drayton says you won't go in for the surgery," Josh told his twin.

"I couldn't go without getting to see you first."

"I'm not a doctor, man."

"You're my brother. You're me."

"We're two people."

"Two copies."

"Now, why'd you have to make Cassandra throw trays at the nurses, man?"

"I didn't make her do that; she did it herself!"

"Humpf!" Cassandra said irritably, still getting herself under control.

"And you got her upset."

"I didn't mean to cause trouble," Chris said defensively. "But I- I- I couldn't- I can't-"

"Take your time, man."

"I just couldn't do it," Chris said quietly. "I had to see you first. They kept saying I'd see you afterwards and I freaked out. Cassandra heard me and she started screaming at the nurses." Chris smiled. "You should've seen her, man. She was ready to take on the whole staff just for me."

"Thank you, Cass," Josh said sincerely, looking at his big sister. "Thank you so much."

"You owe me big for that," Cassandra grunted. "I made us look like a bunch of morons. We don't act like this."

"What's the matter?" Josh asked, turning back to Chris. "They've got great surgeons here. You're gonna be all right."

"Can't you be in there with me?" Chris pleaded.

"No. They said there's just no way. The doctors have to work. You'll be out the whole time anyway."

"Listentome," Chris blurted, gripping Josh's hand tightly with both of his own. "I go in there, I might never walk right again. Maybe I fucked up my ankle in there worse than anybody knows. What if I gave up RMA for this? Soccer, The Citadel, the Marines?" Chris's chest hitched. "I-I just don't know if I did right anymore. I don't know if I'll ever walk again."

"You have to go in there and- and find out," Josh told him. "You can't go on as Mr. Floppy-Foot."

Chris laughed.

"Yeah, I guess not. Hell of a name, though, huh?"

"You bet."

"Cass. Can you come over here, please?"

"What?" Cassandra demanded, turning and approaching the hospital bed. "What do you want?"

"I gotta tell you both. I gotta say this."

"What?"

Chris struggled to say it for almost a minute, and when he did, it came out as almost a whisper. "I'm scared, guys."

Josh just gripped his brother's hand, unable to speak. Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked up at Cassandra. The twins, both of them, were silently pleading with her to say something, to assure them. Cassandra wanted to tell them to knock it off, toughen up, remind them they were sixteen, for Chrissakes, but instead what she said was in a quiet, worried voice of her own.

"I'm scared, too."

"If I don't come out of this- the same, I-I just wanna say I don't regret a thing," Chris blurted. "I don't care about those two kids we went to go get. They don't matter to me. I'll go anywhere you ask me to, Cass. Anywhere. I'm just sorry about your car."

"Forget about that," Cassandra said, kneeling to look at Chris eye-level. "You gotta understand. It was just a machine. If they can't totally fix your ankle, I want you to know that… that…"

Cassandra took in a sharp breath suddenly, and for a long time she just stayed there, frozen in place, crying and unable to say a word. She just couldn't talk. The realization that she was getting this emotional only made things worse; Cassandra wasn't used to open displays of emotion and didn't understand how to manage them. She just focused on being tough and never letting it show. That wasn't helping a whole lot right now.

Finally, she managed to say it. Chris needed to hear this, and maybe Josh, too, so she went ahead and just said exactly how she felt.

"I don't mind losing a car. I care about Lukas. And you. If this means you can't go to The Citadel or something… then, you'll be on that stage. When I graduate. I'll be top of the class. For you. And… Thank you for saving my life. And Lukas. Thank you. Thank you so much."

Tears streamed down Cassandra's face, but she managed to add, "Don't worry. It's gonna be all right."

The three of them needed a long time to calm down after that, and a part of Cassandra hated herself for being so weak, so emotional, and being so unable to help it. But she let it happen and was secretly glad that she did. She stayed there with Josh and Chris until they all got it together at last. Then Chris looked around and said in a calm, even voice, "Go tell 'em to get me outta here. I need to go fix my foot."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Will sat and watched for the next hour and a half as Josh paced restlessly, Cassandra sat around looking like she wanted to fight someone, Mom, Dad, and Grandpa stayed close at each other's sides and talked quietly, and Melissa alternated between sitting and watching her boyfriend anxiously and getting up to pace the lobby with him. Lukas, whose presence was the only thing that kept Cassandra calm at all, spoke with her softly in German from time to time. Mom at one point got up to go talk to some important-looking people in white coats; Will managed to get close enough to gather Mom was smoothing over some ruffled feathers from what Chris and Cassandra had been up to earlier.

The hard part about this was knowing that, given the line of work they had planned for themselves, Josh and Chris were in for worse than this. Cassandra and Brittany, too. Pilots, tank officers, infantry officers, police- they were in a risky business if there ever was one. This wouldn't be the first time something happened to Will's older siblings.

A car crash today could be followed by any number of things tomorrow. Brittany might get hit by a drunk driver or shot in a standoff with terrorists. Cassandra might get shot down over some hostile country, never to be seen again. Josh might never make it out of a burning tank; he might not have someone there to rescue him the way Dad had. And Chris… Will stopped imagining by that point. Even someone as geared towards analysis and critical thinking as he was sooner or later figured out that there were certain things they just didn't want to know.

Finally, after Josh went off to the bathroom and Cassandra irritably snapped at Melissa, scaring her best friend away, Will approached Melissa and spoke to her. Brittany glanced at him, then went back to pretending to read a magazine.

"Listen-"

Melissa jumped. "What?" she said nervously, turning around to look down at him.

"I just want you to know that nobody's gonna leave you hanging," Will told her. "I know you can stay at school. But if you'd rather go to South Carolina with us, we'll all be glad to have you. We have a spare bedroom in the house. We'll take care of everything until your aunt gets back."

"I'll be all right," Melissa protested, although privately Will thought it was a pretty half-hearted effort.

The long waited ended at last when a nurse wheeled a dazed-looking boy in a wheelchair out towards them. One of his feet was wrapped in a cast, and he waved lazily at them.

"Hey, guys," Chris said. "They… uh… they said I'm gonna be okay." He giggled. "I feel okay. I feel great."

"What'd you give him?" Cassandra asked suspiciously, looking at the doctor who was coming up beside the nurse.

"Morphine for the operation," the doctor answered. "He'll be a little out of it for the rest of the day."

"A little? He's out of his mind!"

"Cass, issokay, I'm fine. I basically don't feel anything." Chris paused. "This is cool, you guys."

"Well," the doctor went on, "you'll all be glad to know the surgery was a complete success-"

"Doc, Doc… I seriously don't feel _nothing_. You oughta try this. Issawesome!"

"-and he'll be able to be up and about on crutches starting tomorrow."

"Doc, I can do Dracomalfoy. Lissen: My father will hear 'bout this!"

"Mr. Marshall, Mrs. Marshall, the discharge paperwork includes a list of locations and names for follow-up visits. We included both the D.C. area and the vicinity of Parris Island."

"Thank you," Dad answered.

"My father just heard about this!" Chris blurted, then laughed.

"Come on, Chris," Will said. "Let's go show you the hotel we're staying at."

"Ho-tell? I'm suppostabe stayin' askool!"

"Thanks," Josh said gratefully to the doctor and the nurse. "I know you guys did everything you could. Thank you so much."

"So he'll be all right?" Melissa asked Josh.

"Yeah, Missy," Josh replied, visibly relieved. "He's gonna be fine."

"So, Dad, where will Chris be until Xavier's semester ends?" Will asked.

"Well, there's room at the hotel," Dad replied. "But I think the infirmary can accommodate him so he and Josh can be closer together."

"And we'll come by every day," Will said to his elder siblings.

"That'll be great," Josh agreed enthusiastically. "And we have the Christmas service coming up next Sunday."

"I luff you, Tiny Gene-yuss," Chris said, looking at Will. He giggled. "Thass funny. I said that."

"I love you, too," Will answered him. "Now, let's go show you that hotel."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Chris was out almost the minute the Marshalls got back to the Embassy Suites. Cassandra, purely on impulse, snuck Lukas into her room and hid him under the covers. The family was just staying around the hotel for the day, catching their breath after all the excitement, and Cassandra didn't want to be bothered right now. She only wanted to talk to Lukas. Just Lukas.

So they did talk. Around Lukas, that sweet, innocent boy, Cassandra could be… different. She admitted things to him. Fears, insecurities. Things that she didn't know, or couldn't predict. Sure, Cassandra was dating Lukas partly because he was too kind, too go-with-the-flow to be all that likely to contradict or oppose her. She knew that. He also looked amazing in his underwear, as Lukas was nearly as much of a fitness fanatic as Chris, Josh, or Cassandra herself. But in the end, Cassandra loved Lukas because he loved so many things, so many people; he was an earnest and sincere person who wore his heart on his sleeve and wasn't afraid of his emotions the way Cassandra knew she probably was.

He made up for things Cassandra knew she'd probably never be much good at. Around Lukas, Cassandra felt complete. And while he was not planning to enter the Corps of Cadets, Lukas did show plenty of interest in The Citadel's evening undergraduate classes, and the College of Charleston. They might well be seeing more of each other in the coming years, and that made both of them happy. Cassandra was more than willing to see where this went.

It had sure gone in some pleasant directions today.

Lying there beside her, pale and sweaty, Lukas was grinning from ear to ear. Three rounds for the afternoon always put Lukas in a good mood. Cassandra smiled at him; he was like an excitable little kid about practically everything.

"So, what vill we do tomorrow?" Lukas asked, adding a laugh. "More, uh, 'talking', maybe?"

"Maybe," Cassandra said, nodding. "Or maybe I'll go kick Makayla Wallace in the Potomac."

"Nah, we must give her ein medal first, yes?"

"Okay, okay. We pin that damn medal on her, then I kick her in," Cassandra laughed.

"Yes, this we can do. It is acceptable."

"You sure, Lukas?"

"Yes. We must give her the medal because she has earned it. And if you want to kick her into the Potomac, maybe she has earned that also?"

"You bet she has."

"But her drawings- they were excellent."

"Yes," Cassandra agreed. "They were beautiful. I never saw anything like 'em."

"Maybe she will do better at our school if she is given a better chance?"

"Maybe. It's not really my problem."

"You maybe do not dislike her so much as you say?"

"Lukas, I dislike _everybody_ as much as I say."

"Even me?"

Cassandra laughed. "Lukas, what do I need to do to get you to believe you're the one person I actually like?"

"No, but, you do love your family. You fought for your brother today. To protect him."

"What I did was act like an idiot," Cassandra said irritably. "I _was _an idiot. I was supposed to be better than that. Chris goes and messes up his ankle and suddenly I'm a frightened little schoolgirl?"

"You are a beautiful, svetty schoolgirl," Lukas quipped, snickering.

Cassandra, who had been lying there with her hands behind her head, reached over and casually slapped Lukas.

"Ow!"

"I love you, Lukas."

"Me, and not just my appearance?"

Cassandra laughed again. "Yes, Lukas, not just your appearance. Although that helps."

"Do you deeply respect me as ein human being?"

"Yes, Dr. Strangelove."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Late that evening, Josh was going to look for an ice machine and found Melissa instead. They talked for a few minutes before Josh guided her back to his suite. Sure, he and Melissa had been given separate rooms for a reason, but he figured an exception wouldn't hurt anybody.

No, indeed.

With so much tension at last released, the two teens decided they'd like to do some 'talking', and Josh was shirtless and sitting quite close to Melissa on the couch in short order. She let him unbutton her button-down shirt and slip said shirt off, keeping the bra on, so each of them had plenty to look at.

Twenty or thirty highly enjoyable minutes later, Josh resurfaced for air at last, feeling positively dizzy. His lips hadn't seen that much attention in what seemed like forever. Melissa was downright aggressive this time.

"I'm glad your sister's okay," Josh told Melissa. "She's kinda mixed up, but, I see why you care about her."

"Yeah. She's my sister. That kinda sums it up." Melissa gave one of her small smiles. "I don't think it matters what I think of her. Not really. You're pretty much stuck with who you get."

"Not always," Josh said.

"What's that?" Melissa asked curiously.

Josh hesitated. He wasn't supposed to tell outsiders that Dad had been adopted… but maybe he could tell Melissa.

"Dad was adopted," Josh said quietly. "He ran away from home when he was 10, and my Uncle Chris was 1. Grandpa was a Marine recruiter back then. Found Dad and Uncle Chris at this church one Christmas Eve. They'd seen each other at services, talked here and there. Dad even went by the recruiting station a couple of times. So when Grandpa offered to adopt him and my uncle… I mean, it wasn't just Grandpa. It was my Dad's choice. He chose Grandpa as his family."

The silver pendant bearing the family crest lay perfectly centered between Josh's prominent pectoral muscles; Melissa picked it up, gazing at it thoughtfully. "Sic Parvis Magna," she read on the scroll beneath the crest.

"From Small Things, Greatness," Josh smiled.

"So that's why your dad picked that," Melissa said. "Because of where he started?"

"And where he wound up. A bit egotistical, yeah, but, it's good. It fits."

"_You're_ a bit egotistical," Melissa snickered, reaching to tickle Josh under his arms. Josh laughed.

"Hey, hey. Stop that, you know I can't stand it when you do that."

"You _love_ it when I do that."

"Hey, c'mon, take it easy!" Josh laughed. Finally, Melissa relented and they settled back onto the couch, each holding the other close.

"I'm sorry for being so much trouble," Melissa sighed. "You know, me and my sister."

"It's fine, Missy. Cassandra, Chris, Lukas- they were glad to go help your sister and her, uh, her friend. Boyfriend. Whatever that guy is. They'd do it again in a second, even if that Riley guy's nothing to any of us. It's just- Mom, Dad, Grandpa- it's how they raised us to be. Run toward the danger. That kinda thing."

Melissa eyed Josh appreciatively, running a hand up and down his left bicep, then his right. "Is that why you have these?"

"Well, it's mostly 'cause I practically live at the gym."

"Do you really hate Riley Janssen? You and Cass and Chris?"

Josh had been enjoying the both of them talking about his hard-earned fitness, and going back off topic wasn't what he wanted, but he considered the question nonetheless.

"I don't think we really hate him. You have to know something about somebody in order to really hate them. We've never met him. He's just some guy. Probably got a lotta problems. Maybe he just needs time to figure things out. I dunno. All I know is, he's not what I am, he's not what my brothers and my sisters and I are."

"Which is?"

"A Marshall. A somebody."

"Mm, big muscles _and_ a big ego."

"You like me for both," Josh said, laughing softly. "Don't even pretend. You like me for both."

* * *

**A/N: 5-3-2020.**

**Finally got done with Chapter 7, updating things up to the "present", the latest events of "Adjustments" by Jenny wrens, currently set in December 2005. Man, that took forever! Getting a new job and losing the use of a personal laptop for a time definitely slowed me down, but I am back and doing what I can to get my writing moving again.**

**The plot item of Melissa Wallace and what will happen to her over the holidays is deliberately left not fully resolved here. The Marshalls have made it clear that Melissa is welcome to stay with them, and Mrs. Marshall's influence and standing on the Board of Governors at Xavier Preparatory School will certainly help smooth things over. No official authority has been given to the Marshalls to take Melissa back to South Carolina with them, but this could be a case where *who* the Marshalls know, i.e. their status at Xavier, could prove decisive. In any event Melissa is on the family's radar, and on Josh Marshall, Junior's. They won't leave her hanging.**

**I may have overplayed some things here, but the car wreck that Cassandra, Chris and Lukas were in proved a traumatic event for all of them. They are still very young and I did what I could to accurately write the difficulties an event like this might create. So there were some emotional events, and even stern Cassandra lost control of herself for a time. Her protective instincts towards her younger siblings went into overdrive when she found Chris could not be consoled, so she made a stand until Josh, Jr. could arrive. Cassandra's line "I'm scared, too," is a reference to the 2014 film Fury. Hard to believe it's been 6 years since that movie came out.**

**Just in case I haven't made this clear before, I don't mean to be overly harsh with the references to Riley Janssen. He has had a hard life and his decisions and behavior are in part chaotic and disorganized because of how chaotic and disorganized his life has overwhelmingly been. It's a wonder he isn't more screwed up. But to the Marshall children, Riley has a tendency to come off unfavorably; he looks like an irresponsible fool to them most of the time. They don't know the whole story, of course, but his decision to slip out of the hospital almost immediately after arriving there has definitely made a negative impression.**

**Granted, the Marshall children would also have some things to say about Makayla Wallace's decision to just show up in the midst of a life-or-death situation she was specifically told to stay out of. She's lucky to be alive after that little stunt.**

**There's some difficulty in basing aspects of the Marshalls off the Malfoys when you consider that the Malfoys are (A) An old aristocratic family, not a family only on its second generation even existing at all, and (B) A family with some deeply unsavory ties to Dark things and people. I've largely been inspired by "They Shook Hands" by Dethryl, where Lucius Malfoy is the genuinely loving patriarch of the Malfoy family in the 1990s, and where he truly works to further his family's wealth, status and influence and wants his sons to live successful, fulfilling lives. Both Josh, Sr. and Lucius are connected, powerful men who are dangerous to anyone who crosses them. Josh is a more straightforward warrior, however, and has less interest in the old-fashioned, often bigoted policies that Lucius generally wanted to advance.**

**At any rate, that more or less brings me up to speed with where "Adjustments" has progressed. I will of course be doing whatever I can to work alongside Jenny wrens with all this. We help each other out with our work, and the readers get to benefit.**

**To Amanda: I do intend to go back and actually portray the conversation between Senior Trooper Ellis and Makayla Wallace. That probably is better to include directly, instead of just referring to it.**

**All reviews are welcome.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

* * *

Elizabeth Marshall looked up from the dining room table as her husband of nearly twenty years entered the room, dressed in one of his hand-tailored Brooks Brothers suits. Were it not for his distinctive "buzz cut," stiff posture and broad shoulders, Josh might have been mistaken for a lawyer, investment banker, or the chairman of the board at a Fortune 500 company.

But anyone could see Josh and tell he was a warrior. His eternally-vigilant marksman's eyes, his massive chest and shoulders, the way he carried himself with an almost openly aggressive sort of confidence, like he was practically daring anyone who looked his way to try their luck, all said Josh was a lifelong fighter. He didn't always have Elizabeth's polished, urbane nature, but then he couldn't have come from more different origins. And Elizabeth had been working on him ever since they'd met, smoothing off the edges a little bit at a time.

"Good morning, my love," Josh called out, offering one of his charming smiles.

"Good morning," Elizabeth replied pleasantly. She folded up the Wall Street Journal copy she'd been reading and looked over at her husband as he took his seat beside her, making himself a cup of black coffee.

"Chris is still out," Josh remarked. "He said something about his left knee bothering him last night, on top of his ankle after the surgery… Hopefully it's just some aches and pains. But if he needs it, we'll need to get him back to the doctor to have it checked out."

"Junior didn't take it well," Elizabeth remembered. "Took a while for Lukas and Melissa to calm him down."

"He's taking this as if Riley Janssen did it all to him personally," Josh remarked. He paused to drink some of his coffee, then went on, "I've explained to him that Riley's mistakes aren't his to worry about. And besides, that kid's tougher and smarter than he seems. I still can't believe he survived all those weeks at my island at sixteen. Well, might be worth it to run all that by the kids again. They aren't exactly feeling charitable towards Janssen right now. Explaining some things to them might do some good."

"Cassandra stand to do some listening, too," Elizabeth said, turning to Josh with a pointed look.

"What she did was brave," Josh responded, frowning. "Bravery is needed to solve this world's problems. There's a dire shortage of it, Liz."

"Maybe so, but can our daughter really go around trying to fix everything herself?" Elizabeth demanded, feeling irritated now. "She rushed into a situation without thinking and, no matter the intentions behind it, she nearly got herself and two other people killed. That needs to be addressed, Josh."

"All she wants to be is a warrior, like I am," Josh replied obstinately. "Sometimes charging in the hard way is necessary."

"And so is considering what you're doing, gathering intelligence before acting!" Elizabeth replied sternly. "This is not the Marine Corps, not here in Northern Virginia. And even if it was, Josh, how many times have you led- or sent- your Marines into something without making damn sure you knew everything available that could be used to help them? How many times have you not trusted the people around you and just tried to do it all yourself?"

"Liz," Josh said gently, "you know that's not how I do things. You know I'm smarter than that."

"Then why won't you hold our daughter to the same standard and just tell her what she did was brave, but unnecessary? That it was stupid of her to go charging off like that without a second thought?"

Josh drank some more of his coffee, considering that. "You know she's never been the best listener."

"And we both know she'll listen to you. She adores you. Who does she want to be if not a Marine general just like you?"

"All right, Liz. Okay." Josh sighed. "I didn't see the problem with it, but… when you put it that way, it makes sense. Bravery isn't enough by itself. It has to come with intelligence and common sense. And nobody does it all by themselves."

"That's my point, Josh," Elizabeth replied. "You've gotten this far in life because of all your connections with your classmates from Remington, at The Citadel, all your buddies in the Marine Corps. You all trust and rely on each other every single day. How many speeches have I heard you give where you stressed how we're all in this together?"

Josh smiled fondly as he remembered. "Many."

"You know the things Cassandra needs to learn. She's brave and smart and talented, but she's too set on doing it all herself and that won't work if she wants to get to high rank. She's practically spelled it out that she wants four stars. How can she lead a team of tens of thousands if she can't rely on anybody but herself?"

"She sets her standards so high that most people just don't measure up," Josh reflected. "I've seen her playing soccer and running with her teammates. She can handle teamwork. She at least has the know-how to do it."

"I listened to Cassandra tell me about how that Janssen boy was driving over to the school all those times, where for all anyone knew he was some local in his twenties dating a girl not even in high school." Elizabeth thought for a moment, sipped some of her own coffee. "Cassandra isn't very friendly, but she takes her job as Head Girl seriously. She thinks she's supposed to roam around The Lawn, swooping down on anyone who hasn't checked in at the office like some avenging bat."

Josh guffawed in surprise. "Honey, if Cassandra heard you say that she'd be pretty unhappy with you."

Elizabeth grinned. "Of course. I'm the one who puts up with her when you're deployed again!"

That got Josh laughing even more. "Oh, I know, too. You realize how many times I found her standing around some corner, arms crossed, this big frown on her face, glaring at me like I'd fabricated the Gulf War all by myself?"

"Now, honey, how do we know you didn't do that?"

"Well, I-"

"Precisely."

Josh shook his head. "All right, Liz, I see your point. The kids will be coming downstairs fairly soon. You want to sit Cassandra down privately, or just talk about it at breakfast?"

"The sooner the better, Josh," Elizabeth said. "We might as well get it over with."

"You're right, Liz. I'm going to make a call before the kids come down. I have an idea for Lukas while we're at it."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Melissa was grateful she'd managed to hear back from her sister yesterday, and thus get a much better night's sleep, because much as she loved being around her boyfriend, Josh was restless and irritable from the moment they all got up.

Upon seeing Chris limping out into the hallway, leaning heavily on a cane and remarking at a persistent pain in one knee, Josh had started ranting furiously about Riley Janssen and how "that creep" should have been stopped from "sneaking into campus" right from the start.

Brittany, William, Melissa and Chris all worked to keep Josh's voice down, but Cassandra heard the noise and came out to tell them all off for waking up Lukas, who fled back down the hall to his room when the Marshall siblings were all busy arguing.

William ended up being the one to restore calm, though. Much to Melissa's surprise, the youngest of the Marshall children ended the bickering by simply stepping into the middle of the semi-circle and barking "Enough!"

Once his elder siblings were all quiet, William had reminded them all that disagreeing out in public like this was unacceptable, and that it was time to go downstairs for breakfast. That had restored the peace for a while, until another scene arose, one even more serious than the first.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

The Marshalls had the same dining room reserved on the ground floor as they had before, and as usual a wide array of food and drink was laid out, all of it prepared expertly by the staff in the Embassy Suites kitchen. The Marshall children all greeted their parents, who sat at their usual place at the far right end from the door, and received polite greetings in return. Melissa accepted a seat Josh pulled out for her, and was buttering up a roll when she heard Lukas say, "Mister Marshall, there are flight tickets here."

From his seat at the head of the table, Mr. Marshall nodded. "Yes, they're for you, Lukas. You're going home to Germany as soon as the semester is over."

"But Lukas is staying with us over the break!" Cassandra exclaimed, jerking her head up.

"As I said, Cassandra, he is going home to Germany for Christmas. I spoke to his parents just a little earlier this morning. The Admiral was most appreciative that one of my classmates from The Citadel was so helpful in making all the arrangements. Lukas will be flying first-class all the way."

"You and Mom said that Lukas- we agreed on that months ago!"

"You will not talk back to me," Mr. Marshall said, giving his eldest child an icy glare.

Cassandra returned that glare with one of her own. "How could you do this without discussing it with me?"

Mr. Marshall pulled a look of mock confusion. "I am your father; my word is law; Lukas is going home to Germany, where he ought to be after what he's just been through. What else is there to discuss?"

"You promised he'd be staying with us this Christmas!"

"Plans can change, Cassandra. If you hadn't been so reckless, you'd still have your Plymouth, and I have no doubt, Admiral Shepard and Mrs. Shepard would be willing to let Lukas stay with us. As it was, when I offered to send Lukas back, they were quite appreciative, as they had were about to buy plane tickets themselves."

Cassandra slammed a hand on the table. "You said you were proud of me!"

"Your bravery in going to the aid of two people you didn't know is admirable," Mr. Marshall said. "But there's more to it than that, Cassandra. This isn't the only time you rushed into something without making sure to be as well-informed as possible beforehand. And it isn't the first time you tried to do it all yourself."

"You can't fix everything, Cassandra," Mrs. Marshall added. "Your father and I are proud of how ready you are to stand up to people or problems. That's always going to be true. Courage is a quality that never goes out of style. But what good is courage if it doesn't come with common sense?"

Cassandra grumbled something unintelligible.

"When Riley Janssen started coming around, you should have told the other Prefects, told your mother and I, told the Headmaster."

"I am the _Head Girl_!" Cassandra ground out. "It's my _job_! My _responsibility_! Some jerkoff starts driving up in an old pickup truck and picking up one of my girls and I'm just supposed to lie down and-"

"Cassandra, were you listening to me?" Mr. Marshall demanded. "As senior among the girls at Xavier, you do have a responsibility, and that is to be and act as part of a team. Your fellow Prefects are expecting you to set the pace, and the faculty and administration expect you to help as another set of eyes and ears. Why did you try to solve this whole thing with Riley Janssen and Makayla Wallace yourself? Who appointed you to follow them in your car?"

Cassandra stood up suddenly. "I'm going. I don't have to listen to-"

"Sit. Down," Mr. Marshall ordered her in a voice of iron, his face set in stone.

Although the tall, red-haired girl glared insolently at her father, his gaze steadily wore her down. She sat down again and stared at her plate. "I only did what you would've done."

"Cassandra, that's not what I would've done," Mr. Marshall responded. "I've led hundreds to thousands of Marines into battle I don't even know how many times. How do you think I did it? By myself, me, the lone hero, charging into save the day and solve all the problems?"

"No, of course not," Cassandra answered.

"Of course not!" Mr. Marshall agreed. "I wouldn't have made it through my first year commanding a platoon! I couldn't have even survived a year in command of the Corps at The Citadel, or at Remington! Three times in my life I've risen to be a colonel. You think that just _happened_?"

"It happened because you're the _best_, Dad!" Cassandra half-shouted, staring up at her father again.

"And part of being the best means knowing how to work with others!" Mr. Marshall retorted. "From the day I first held rank as a cadet corporal at RMA, I've understood I'm not in this alone. I've had to work with people- work _for_ people- who may not be to my liking. Maybe sometimes I think they're not up to my standards, and I could be right. Maybe I think they're flat-out wrong, and I could be right about that, too. But Cassandra, you can be just as brilliant as they come and you'll never, ever be rid of people who aren't perfectly to your liking. It's the way the world is. Riley Janssens and Makayla Wallaces will be under your command as you rise to hold rank at The Citadel."

"There are a million ways of motivating people and getting the second-rate performers to shape up, find their motivation, and improve. It'll be the same once you commission. Let me tell you, Cassandra, a lot of things suck in the Marine Corps. You'll be in charge of people you'll want to kick into the ocean with cinderblocks tied to their feet, but you don't get to do that to them. But you don't get to do that. The first-rate people and the self-starters can take care of themselves at the end of the day, but the average and below-average? They'll be the ones you'll spend ninety percent of your time working on, Cassandra."

"One day coming up a Riley Janssen or a Makayla Wallace might be depending on you to help them secure emergency leave, transfer their spouse and kids to a new base, or to keep them alive in combat. You have to be ready to do that whether or not you like them, whether or not they measure up to your standards. You're brave and tough and capable, Cassandra, but that is_ not good enough! Not by itself! There's no honor in a stupid death! Do you get it?_"

Mr. Marshall's voice rose to a shout toward the end, and Cassandra had visibly paled, then wilted under the onslaught. The last few words thundered against Melissa's ears and she trembled in her seat, thinking for a moment that this must be how Josh Marshall, Senior made himself heard in the midst of total chaos. It was easy to hear a powerful voice like that and see Marines leaping to obey.

"Yes," Cassandra managed to say. It was a small, meek voice, nothing like her usual self.

"Good," Mr. Marshall said, reverting to a calm, urbane tone. "You're as brave and brilliant as they come, Cassandra. But don't ever forget you don't know everything."

Cassandra nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

"Josh, sit up and take your elbows off the table," Mrs. Marshall said. Melissa looked to her left and sure enough, her boyfriend was slumped in his chair, both elbows on the table, poking idly at some scrambled eggs with his fork.

"Why?"

Mrs. Marshall's expression could have etched frozen glass. "_Excuse_ me?"

"Why should I take my elbows off the table?"

"Because you are a Marshall, because I told you to, and because it's simply good manners, and manners set us apart from the beasts," Mrs. Marshall answered, as if all that went without saying.

Chris, pale and worried, looked between his brother and his parents but didn't speak. Brittany was doing her best not to get caught in the crossfire despite being seated at Melissa's right. William's eyes darted around, watching everyone, but he didn't say a word.

Josh sighed irritably. "Oh, yes, how could I forget? I'm a Marshall. I wish I was just some jerkoff Smith, so I could put ol' Riley back in the hospital myself. But I'm a Marshall, huh? Too fuckin' bad."

"Josh," Mrs. Marshall said coldly, "you will take your elbows off the table _right now_, and you will apologize to me."

Turning his head, Josh stared defiantly at his mother, but her stony gaze was every bit as intimidating as that of her husband. Josh lowered his head, sat up, and took his elbows off the table. "I'm sorry for my behavior, Mom. It won't happen again."

"Good. Be glad your father and I are feeling generous today."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Melissa," William said, "Josh never told us how you two met."

"Uh- well-" Melissa replied uncertainly, glancing at Josh, who shrugged indifferently.

"It's a fun story, Missy," Chris encouraged. "Go ahead."

"Yes, I'd like to hear this one myself," Mr. Marshall added with a smile.

Melissa glanced around, unsure if she hadn't intruded on something by being here, but despite Josh and Cassandra being unusually quiet, the atmosphere in the room seemed to have shifted again, and everyone seemed genuinely interested in what Melissa had to say.

"All right," Melissa said. "Okay. I remember it pretty well."

So she told them.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Much to Josh's frustration, Chris was not allowed to leave for Xavier along with himself, Brittany, Cassandra and Melissa. Josh's twin needed the rest, Mom and Dad said, so yet again Josh had to be separated from his twin, kept apart from him at a time when they sorely needed to be together.

So while Cassandra followed Lukas out to the latters' Mercedes E-Class, Josh had buttoned up his Brooks Brothers navy blue school coat and located his supercharged Range Rover sitting tall, emerald green and magnificent among a moderate snowfall.

After making the drive to school, Josh kicked around an idea until lunch hour, when he approached Trevor, Bradley, and Harry Potter, who was well known among The Boys for his skill at always having a supply of cigarettes ready and waiting. Just for fun, they took the Range Rover out on the interstate as the snow came down in heavy, puffy flakes, soaking the roads until it slowly began to build up on the edges.

They went to Arby's, like they often did, bought anything they wanted, as they always did. Josh listened but didn't really listen as Trevor swore every three words instead of every two, Harry boasted about the new Bentley he'd gotten this past summer, and as always they both went on and on about the latest gossip and who was supposedly sleeping with who behind the scenes.

Josh took pride in the fact that nobody knew much about what he and Melissa had or hadn't done. He might have laughed along and enjoyed a good story just like the rest of The Boys, but he also treated Melissa with not just respect, but a kind of reverence. Their romantic life was nobody else's business.

All too soon, it was time to drive back to Xavier Prep, and Josh gladly accepted a pack of cigarettes that Harry tossed him from the front passenger seat of the Range Rover.

"I can always count on you, Harry," Josh said. "So tell me, how do you do it?"

"Oh, you'd be amazed how many seniors I know around here who have accounts at one of Dad's banks," Harry replied airily. "They know Dad pays attention if I tell him someone is or isn't a good business contact or customer, so cigarettes? That's easy. Real easy." He laughed. "Benefits of your dad owning banks."

The Range Rover's powerful motor meticulously transmitted its confidence to four Michelin tires, making the snowfall and the accompanying slick roads all but irrelevant. Josh thought about Melissa and made a mental note to take her out to dinner as soon as he could. He thought about Chris, and reminded himself to send text messages to his twin throughout the day.

As he turned back into the wide rectangular space of the main Xavier parking lot, Josh located one of his favorite spaces, right under the vast branches of an old oak tree. He parked, shut the Range Rover off, and casually hopped down from the British SUV, already holding a Camel between two fingers.

"Trevor, gimme a light here," Josh said.

"Sure," Trevor agreed, flipping open his lighter again.

"There we go," Josh nodded, taking a drag and coughing once. "Shit. I hate this crap."

"Then why do it?" Harry asked, cupping his hands against the wind and lighting a cigarette of his own.

"Because I'm young, bored, and, uh, I wanna, ya know, rebel against my parents and shit," Josh said with a laugh.

"_God_, I fucking hate not having a fucking car," Trevor sighed.

"And _whose_ fault is that, Trevor?" Josh asked.

"Me and my big fucking dirty mouth."

"I see you're learning your lesson," Harry snickered.

"Yeah, you know it," Trevor replied.

"Don't look now, boys," Harry said, nodding over Josh's shoulder, "but I think the peasants have come to grace us with their presence again. That relic's back and some kid just got out of it."

"Huh?" Josh turned around, then immediately shook his head with rising anger. "That's not just some poor person. That's Riley Janssen."

"Oh, they have _names_?" Harry cracked, and he and Trevor laughed.

"Yeah, they do," Josh said, taking another drag. He exhaled, paused a moment, then started toward the old Ford. "C'mon, guys."

"What're you gonna do?" Harry asked.

"Nothing I won't want to," Josh replied heatedly, staring daggers at the Janssen kid's back.

"Don't worry, I'll get his attention for you," Harry promised. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled, then flicked it through the air towards the teenager standing by the old truck. The burning end struck the other boy on the back of the neck, and he turned around instantly, glaring at the three boys as they approached.

"I hope you're here to apologize," the boy said, glowering at them from under that sharp-edged high-and-tight haircut of his.

"That's funny," Harry replied with a mocking smile. "My buddy was just saying the same about you."

"What?"

"What? What? Duh- _God_, maybe you're tough, kid, but you're not all that smart," Josh remarked. He took a drag on his cigarette and casually blew the smoke into the other boy's face.

"Jeez," Janssen coughed, waving the smoke away.

Josh smacked the hand down. Hard. "Don't you wave your fucking hand in my face," Josh warned.

"And why shouldn't I do that?" Janssen demanded. "Tell me. Tell me why."

Josh laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. "Oh, you don't even wanna _know_, man."

"Oh, really? I don't wanna know?"

"Yeah. Listen. There's a dress code at Xavier, and you're a couple grand below it, kid."

Anger flared in the other boy's dark eyes. "Don't call me 'kid'."

"Maybe I should call you Sweetheart," Josh sneered. He nodded as Janssen looked at him curiously. "Oh, yes. I've seen you picking up Makayla Wallace in front of my school. Jesus, man, the whole school saw you. Thought maybe you were some creep in his twenties, that bullshit story about Princeton or wherever, but kid, you look like you're not quite outta high school." He paused meaningfully. "Or maybe it's Parris Island."

"What the hell are you talking about, dude?"

"I know who you are!" Josh shot back. "I know _all about_ you. Never saw you up close but I know this truck and I know who's been in it all these times it's come driving up to my school."

"Get outta my face," Janssen ordered. "I don't know who you think you are-"

"Oh, who _I_ think I am?" Josh laughed. "Listen to _him_, guys!" He glanced briefly at Harry and Trevor, then turned back to Riley. "Listen. You should take this old heap and get lost, kid. You can't even afford to buy lunch here. This place ain't for you." He flicked his cigarette at Janssen; it struck his jacket and landed on the wet pavement between them.

"I'm not going anywhere," Janssen replied firmly.

Josh took a step forward, chest out. "Yes, you are. I don't know whether or not you learned English properly in the trailer park, but _here _we have standards, and _you_ don't meet them. Why don't you run along and go tell that to Mommy for me?"

Putting one hand out, Josh shoved Janssen just as hard as he could and took up a karate fighter's stance, falling back on a lifetime of training, on the black belt he had held since last year.

"Last chance," Josh said tightly.

"Fuck off," Janssen shot back. He lashed out with his right fist and caught Josh square on the jaw. His head jerked back, and Josh's eyes narrowed to slits. He shook his head and, as he grew so furious he could barely think, still kept the wits to quote one of his favorite movies.

"No mercy, man."

Josh moved first, striking an open palm to the center of Janssen's chest. The force was calculated to throw Janssen off balance and it did so wonderfully; as Janssen staggered, Josh spun around on one heel, sweeping Janssen's legs out from under him with a carefully-poised leg.

When Janssen went down on his ass, Josh stood over him triumphantly, feeling sure that he'd won.

"Well, kid, how'd you like-"

Janssen got one leg up and struck Josh behind the knee, throwing him off balance. Josh nearly fell into the Mercedes next to him but managed to recover, backpedaling like mad as Janssen stood and charged him, throwing one blow after the next.

Josh fell back on his training and began striking like a cobra on the defensive, making a lethal opportunity out of any opening, but the stinging blows to the wrist that slapped down Janssen's strikes didn't seem to deter him. He would block, strike, force Janssen back, but still the other boy kept coming.

_Strike first! Strike hard! No mercy!_ The mantra echoed through Josh's head, and despite the stiff, restrictive nature of his school dress clothes and this heavy coat, Josh fought by it as he always did. The way Dad, who had encouraged the RMA boys as they founded a Cobra Kai group of their own after _The Karate Kid_ came out, had always said he should whenever he was in battle, whether on the streets or overseas.

Incredibly, although Josh landed many blows and steadily drove Janssen to a standstill and then into a slow, gradual retreat, Janssen continued to fight. He blocked and struck using techniques Josh recognized from Marine Martial Arts fights he'd watched with Dad at so many Marine bases over the years. Driven into a thoughtless fury, hellbent on avenging the insult to his family and his brother by this unappreciative idiot, Josh took every hit that got through without even noticing.

When they had both bloodied each other's noses and wound up by the tail of the old gray Ford again, Josh lunged forward with one hand raised, meaning to slam it into Janssen's forehead… or maybe to break his nose. Janssen fell back, grabbed Josh by his coat, spun and threw him against the Ford's tailgate.

Josh jerked his head back and rammed it against his enemy's chest, forcing the other teen back several steps, and was getting ready to move forward again, to continue the fight, when a voice like iron interrupted him.

"That's enough, boys."

A steel band closed around Josh's collar, and the same for Janssen.

"Let go of me!" Josh barked. He twisted and bucked but couldn't get loose. "Take your hands _off _me, mother_fucker_, or I'll-"

"You'll what?" the old man asked patiently as Josh turned his head to view the newcomer…

…and looked directly into the face of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Pain exploded between his legs just then as Janssen took the moment to kick him square in the nuts. Josh saw a brilliant array of stars and collapsed like a sack of potatoes. He'd been caught unawares, and he'd paid for it.

"Riley, _that's enough_!" he heard Gibbs say, the steady bark of command that Josh was used to hearing on Marine bases, from his father and so many others.

"Let go of me!" Riley snarled. "_I'll kick his ass_! Let _go_!"

"You'll do no such thing!"

"You better keep your hands off him, sir!" Harry called out in warning.

"If his father hears about this," Trevor tried to threaten, "you'll-"

"Kid, you don't even know what you're talking about," Gibbs interrupted him. He knelt and strong hands reached for Josh, helped him stand. "Feeling all right?"

"No," Josh coughed, looking down to see he'd made a real mess of his tie, his white dress shirt, his coat- basically everything. He quickly added, "No, sir," and leaned harder on the tailgate of the truck as the pain rolled around, sending new waves of agony through him every second.

"Keep your fucking hands off me next time," Janssen snarled again, but Gibbs held out one palm, stopping Riley in his tracks.

"I said that's enough, Riley!"

"He started it!"

"I didn't ask who started it! It's over, and you better understand that!"

Josh wanted to retort, wanted even more to continue the fight, but the pain was too much. He stood there by the back end of the truck, hunched over, straining just to get his breath back, nose bleeding like hell. At least he had the satisfaction of seeing Janssen's nose running blood as well, of seeing how he kept wincing and putting a hand to his side.

"You two are going inside with me," Gibbs commanded in a tone that brooked no argument. "And you're gonna tell me everything that happened."

"He doesn't have to go anywhere with you," Harry blustered, stepping forward again.

"And he didn't start it anyway!" Trevor added.

"That's not true!" Janssen exclaimed.

"I'll go," Josh said, forcing himself to stand up straight again. He nodded to Janssen. "And when my father hears about this-"

"That's a good idea," Gibbs said agreeably, taking out a cell phone. "Let's get your old man over here."

"No!" Josh blurted, sensing abruptly that he had been a fool to try threatening or even bluffing anyone accompanying this man. He coughed twice, then looked at Agent Gibbs again. "You don't need to call my old man, sir. How about we just, uh, talk this out?"

"Your father's going to hear about it all the same," Gibbs warned. He nodded to Janssen. "Let's go, Riley."

"Whatever."

As they began the walk towards the front of the school, Josh tried again. "Sir, you really don't need to call my father."

"I'll be the judge of that. Now, first question: who started the fight?"

"I did, sir." Josh hated to say it, but he'd been raised to tell the truth, and it would only make things worse if Mom and Dad found out he'd lied about something, especially something like this.

"I know," Agent Gibbs answered. "It's good you didn't lie to me. That saves time."

"How did you know, sir?" Josh asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I saw enough of it as I came outside."

"Yes, sir." Josh paused. As he limped along, he awkwardly paused, then held out his hand. "I'm Josh Marshall, Junior, sir."

"I know that, son."

"How's that, sir?"

"You dropped your wallet," the old man said, handing it back to Josh, "and it's got your name sewn onto it."

"Uh… yes, sir."

"All right. Up those steps, you two. We're going inside to talk."

Harry and Trevor moved to flank Josh, ensuring that Riley Janssen had to keep his distance as they climbed the stairs toward the front doors of the administration building. The two boys each exchanged a hateful glance, then made their way inside as Gibbs followed right behind them.

* * *

**A/N: 6-14-2020.**

**Managed to get another chapter done, finally! This one was very much the product of repeated PMs between Jenny wrens and myself; we each shared ideas on our respective stories going forward and she liked mine regarding a fight transpiring between Josh Jr. and Riley Janssen. I figured that while Josh Jr. and Riley have never met before, Josh Jr. has a name to put to the young man who has been seen driving Gibbs' truck at Xavier, and upon seeing said young man and the truck again quickly put two and two together.**

**It took me a while- weeks, easily- to settle on how to write the way that Cassandra ends up getting reprimanded for her mistakes. Jenny wrens wisely pointed out to me that what Cassandra did earlier was reckless and ill-considered, even if it was also selfless and brave. It was also arguably quite unnecessary, and Cassandra could and should have involved others and not been so set on doing it all herself.**

**Cassandra, as I have worked to write her, may not like to listen to or take criticism from just about anybody, but she loves her family and absolutely idolizes her father. She can't stand ever having him disappointed in her, and so beneath her endless striving for perfection, she is also constantly seeking his love and approval. She may not have liked to hear what she did from her father in this chapter, but it will make her think.**

**I took inspiration from the second and fifth story in Dethryl's "They Shook Hands" fanfic series for the "Harry Potter" universe in this chapter. Lucius Malfoy says the "I am your father; my word is law" line when speaking to his son Elan in the second story, and Narcissa Malfoy reprimands Draco for sitting with his elbows on the table in the fifth story. I liked both scenes and found myself thinking of a way to include them in this story at some point, and here we are.**

**All reviews are welcome.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

**A/N: A few notes before this chapter formally starts.**

**ancilla89: Below is a partial list of characters for "Perspective," one of which, Melissa Wallace, is an OC from "Adjustments" by Jenny wrens.**

**A Few OC's**

**Brigadier General Joshua S. Marshall, United States Marine Corps is a major OC in my NCIS works and a prominent character in this story. He commands Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island in South Carolina.**

**Sergeant Major Thomas Marshall, USMC is a retired Marine who served from 1945 to 1987. He is the adoptive father of Josh S. Marshall, Sr.**

**William Marshall- Youngest of the Marshall children at 12, Will plans to break with family tradition and join the U.S. Navy once he is old enough. He studies full-time and teaches undergraduate courses part-time at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York.**

**Xavier Preparatory School students**

**Class of 2006**

**Samantha Byron- Prefect**

**Susan Heisler- Prefect**

**Cassandra Marshall- Prefect and Head Girl**

**Woodes Rogers, IV- Prefect and Head Boy, son of an influential D.C. Senator.**

**Lukas Shepard- Prefect, one of Xavier's students from Germany**

**Melissa "Missy" Wallace- Prefect, girlfriend of Josh S. Marshall, Jr.**

**Class of 2007**

**Trevor Bedford- Member of "The Boys", known for his tendency toward copious profanity among his friends.**

**Bradley R. Campbell, III- Prefect**

**Joshua S. Marshall, Jr.- Prefect, boyfriend of Melissa Wallace**

**Chris T. Marshall- Prefect, identical twin brother of Josh S. Marshall, Jr.**

**Karen McCann- Prefect**

**Alan Parks- Prefect**

**Harry Potter- Xavier socialite; coincidentally shares a name with J.K. Rowling's most famous character.**

**Emily Wright- Prefect**

**Class of 2010**

**Brittany Marshall- Minor character (so far, at least) in "Perspective", she attends Xavier Preparatory School in the 8th grade.**

**And another thing**

"**The Boys" and "The Girls"- The male and female elite social cliques at Xavier Preparatory School, respectively. Known for setting trends and social standards for the rest of the student body, and typically the Prefects are members. There's no official list of who's with them, not that any of the students have. This is just the name for Xavier's "in crowd".**

After a few brief questions to determine that the two boys didn't need medical attention right this second, Agent Gibbs led them to a conference room off the main hallway in Xavier Hall. As the rush from the fight faded, Josh started to feel the impact of the blows he'd taken, began to notice the scuffing and tearing to his uniform.

It was impossible not to notice the signs that he'd landed some blows of his own, though. And the more Josh looked, the more he felt a kind of perverse satisfaction over it. He'd laid hands on his hated enemy at last. He'd been taught to engage and destroy in any confrontation. That was the way Dad and all his martial arts tutors had said he should fight. And although Agent Gibbs had interrupted before Josh could actually destroy his enemy, put him down with no mercy asked or given, Josh could at least say he'd done something to avenge the insult done to his family.

Even so, it was hard to feel all that proud when Agent Gibbs closed the meeting room door, set his hands on the back of a leather swivel chair, and leveled that steel gaze at the two boys. They each sat six feet apart and both got the stare directed at them, but while Josh nervously braced himself for the questioning, Riley Janssen crossed his arms over his chest and stared defiantly back.

"So what happened?" Agent Gibbs asked. Calmly, yet firmly, a voice you couldn't ignore.

Instantly the two boys started arguing. Josh tried to raise his voice enough to start out by apologizing, figuring that was the right thing to do, while Janssen began ranting furiously about how "he and those stupid rich kids" started everything.

"One at a time," Gibbs interrupted, raising a hand for silence. He pointed at Josh. "Tell me."

"Wait, sir-" Josh glanced over at Janssen, who glared back furiously. "I- are you this guy's guardian or, or something?"

"Yes. And now it's time we had that talk, wouldn't you agree? What happened out there?"

Josh swallowed nervously. He'd felt like a badass out there, taking on someone he hated, retaliating for an insult to the Marshall clan, but being cornered by this old warrior, he felt like a hot-tempered kid who'd messed up pretty good. A feeling he knew he was likely to retain when he inevitably answered to Dad later.

"Well, sir, my friends and I, we- I saw him when we came back from lunch. Harry threw his cigarette at him and we went over to tell him he should leave. He said no, so I threw my cigarette at him and pushed him. Then he pushed me, so I hit him harder and knocked him down." Josh paused. "That started the fight, sir."

"You even threw in some crap about 'No mercy,' remember?" Janssen snapped. "Bet that felt great when-"

"Riley, hold on," Agent Gibbs warned gently but firmly. "I need to get this just from him." He looked over at Josh again. "What's this about 'No mercy'? You like making references to old movies?"

"My Dad's a fan," Josh replied simply. "And most of the time I've been at Remington Military Academy up in Rhode Island the last couple of years. Some cadets started a Cobra Kai group there back in 1984 or 1985. It's still there."

"So that's how your Dad said you should fight? Like Cobra Kai?"

"Strike first, strike hard, no mercy, sir," Josh recited. "Dad says it's realistic. 'The world's hard, and the only way to survive is to go all-in when you engage. Try everything to make tact and diplomacy work but if you can't, hit 'em so hard they never get up again. No mercy.'"

"All right. So you started the fight, but why?"

"My sister and her boyfriend and my brother all went to get him-" Josh jerked a thumb irritably at Janssen, who glared daggers at him even more than before- "-and he up and ran out on us, sir. Got in that wreck. Could've died. And he ran right outta that hospital like a coward."

"So you blame him for what happened? Your sister didn't have to come after him or Makayla."

"My parents raised us to run _toward _the danger, sir," Josh said matter-of-factly. "It's what we do. She was reckless about it, this time, but she still did the right thing. I mean, sir, her heart was in the right place. She heard Makayla Wallace and that guy were in big trouble and that was all she needed to know. Sir."

"Feeling like Riley didn't show the right appreciation?"

"I don't think he's showed _any_ so far," Josh answered. "And he ran out on us while three people who tried to help him lay in the hospital." Josh shrugged. "I wanted some payback, sir. Just took this as a chance to get it."

"Riley?"

"I was just sitting out at the truck like you said, and these stupid rich brats show up throwing their fuckin' cigarettes at me! Bigshot here starts pushing me, so I pushed him. So what?"

"Is that all?"

"Yeah! Oh, no, wait, rich boy started going on about how I shouldn't be here, I'm too poor to hang around here or whatever. He had some nice things to say about that truck of yours, too."

"Look, I just said it was old!" Josh protested. "I said some stuff I shouldn't have, okay? I'm not supposed to just go shitting on- I mean, going and, you know, insulting people 'cause they don't have money."

That stare again, with what seemed like curiosity this time. "Your parents like to live it up, huh, Josh?"

"Oh, he's Josh now, is he?!" Janssen burst out, but Gibbs held up a hand again.

"Let me ask the questions, Riley."

"For how long? You wanna make a federal court case outta this or something?"

"What're you talking like that to him for?" Josh asked, both surprised and annoyed.

"Howabout you just count your teeth and see if you wanna lose any?" Janssen asked mulishly.

"Now, Riley, that's enough," Agent Gibbs said sternly. "Just keep that to yourself."

"He started it!"

"I'm asking questions here," Agent Gibbs replied. "Let me do that."

"Whatever."

Agent Gibbs kept his gaze on Janssen for a few more moments, then looked back at Josh, obviously waiting to her a reply.

"Sir, my family's money isn't important to this."

"Yeah," Janssen snapped, "I could tell by how much you talked about it!"

Josh looked to Agent Gibbs plaintively. "Sir, what I said was that he's not up to the dress code around here, and he's not. I meant he doesn't have the money that the kids who go here do, and he doesn't. It's true. Any one of us here could look at him and see that."

"Doesn't make him any less of a person," Agent Gibbs replied sternly, seeming to genuinely disapprove.

"You're right, sir," Josh agreed, nodding. He shrugged nervously. "Uh… I guess I just got carried away. School like this, sir, you get a lot of guys, and girls, will all these rich, powerful parents."

"Goes to your head, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Josh replied. "It does. And it's happened to me sometimes. Mom and Dad always taught us that being a Marshall made you special, um, a cut above the rest, but also it meant- it means- responsibilities."

"Like being a Marine."

"Absolutely, sir." Josh hesitated. "I think my Dad just assumes we'll all be Marines just like him, but… if Will up and wanted to join the Navy instead, he'd be able to live with it."

"Will?"

"My younger brother, sir. He's twelve. Teaches at Cornell while he works on his Master's. Then he'll be after his PhD."

That got a look of astonishment from Janssen, and surprise even registered on Gibbs' stone-like face.

"Your brother's doing that at twelve?"

Josh smiled proudly. "He's the smartest person I've ever met, sir. A genius."

"Sounds like it," Gibbs agreed. "And so all that family pride wasn't enough to stop you from starting a brawl in the parking lot at this school?"

"No, sir, I guess not," Josh replied. He hesitated. "Look, sir, if you wanna know anything about what happened, or, like… I dunno, why it happened or something, just ask me. I'll tell you anything you wanna know."

"Your dad's still gonna know about this," Gibbs reminded him.

"I don't mind, sir," Josh said. "Being a Marshall means owning up to your actions, whether or not you're proud of them. You choose to do something, you own it. You don't hide."

"Big man with his big words," Janssen scoffed. Gibbs shot him a warning look, but Janssen huffed and turned his face away.

"Go ahead, sir," Josh said, looking Gibbs in the eyes. "And when you talk to Janssen there, I'll confirm whatever he says as long as it's the truth. I started that fight but I'm not a liar. Sir."

"All right," Gibbs said. "I can think of some things I'd like to know."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Harry Potter stood out in the hallway of Xavier Hall, the main administration building, arms folded, anxiously waiting for that old guy to come out. He'd been in there for more than half an hour, and his calm, steady voice stopped only for periodic replies from Josh Marshall, Jr. or Riley Janssen.

Granted, the Janssen kid seemed to constantly end up shouting, but he was technically still replying regardless. It annoyed Harry to no end that one of the wealthiest and most influential boys in this school was having to sit in there and put up with all this.

So what if Josh laid into some poor kid who came snooping around here? What difference did that make to anybody that mattered? Josh was a Marshall, and you no more played games with one of them than you would one of the Rogers or the Potters. And Josh was… upset right now, to say the least. Harry intended to protect his friend from any fallout, no matter what this old dude intended to do.

Harry's phone buzzed, and he took it out of his pocket to check. Trevor was asking what to tell everyone. The fight had been witnessed from afar and people were already beginning to talk now that Josh was absent from class. Harry was technically skipping to be where he was, but Trevor had already taken care of that. There'd be time to do damage control if Harry needed it.

_Say that the Janssen kid started it_, Harry wrote quickly.

_But he didn't. Technically._

_I don't care_, Harry replied. _Get enough people talking our way and this'll take care of itself._

_I'm on it_, Trevor answered.

Harry sighed gratefully; one piece of business was taken care of. Or would be soon enough. It was all the same to Harry, who'd had to manage PR matters like this before. This one was different, though. It involved two outsiders, one of whom was entirely unknown to Harry. The old guy seemed to be important to Josh, but Harry couldn't just go in there and ask why. Not yet anyway.

The polished solid hardwood door of the conference room opened and the old guy stepped out, his sharp, hawk-like eyes immediately spotting Harry off to the left in the luxuriously-carpeted hallway.

"Shouldn't you be in class, son?"

Harry pocketed his phone, squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, bracing himself for what looked to be the toughest opponent he'd ever had to "explain the rules" to. He was going to let this dude know what was what no matter who he happened to be.

"Well, sir, I stuck around because- are you Riley Janssen's guardian or something?"

"That's me, yes."

Harry allowed himself a modest smile; progress already!

"I thought so, sir. See, here's the thing, sir. I really think you need to know how we do things here at Xavier. You can't just go making trouble for someone like Josh Marshall."

"And why is that?" the old guy asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Because if you did," Harry went on, "you'd be telling people things that just aren't true. I've already taken care of- people already know what _actually_ happened."

"What really happened? Out in the parking lot?" The old man frowned. "What're you saying, son?"

Harry made sure to look the old guy right in the eyes. "Why, that the Janssen kid started the fight, of course, and that Josh was never out there. Nobody saw the fight up close, so they'll hear that I fought Janssen instead. And even if you get it nailed down that Josh was there somehow, I'll still have more witnesses than you. I'm covering for Josh, whatever that means for me."

The old guy didn't like the sound of that, it seemed; his already-stern expression grew even more solemn. "You're telling me you're going to lie about everything that just happened?"

"I don't like being dishonest, sir," Harry added. "But I'll make sure you can't touch Josh over this. That kid doesn't belong at this school, anyway. Costs almost sixty grand to go here, sir; that's a steep admission price. No offense, sir, but everything about that kid- well, it's obvious he's not that type."

"I hope you don't think you're better than Riley just because you're to the manor born," the old dude replied. "Your old man must've taught you better than that."

"What he taught me was that here at Xavier, sir, we take care of our own," Harry replied. "I'll see that gets done no matter what you plan on doing. I'm hoping you plan on being reasonable, sir, and not stirring up any trouble."

"I'll make sure to talk it over with Tom the next time I see him," the old man replied, his tone nonchalant.

Harry started, unsure of who that was. "Who-?"

"Works in the big, fancy office with a brass sign on the door. He's the big boss around here."

"Doctor _Jenkins_?" Harry asked in astonishment. "But how do you-"

"That's for me to know," the old guy answered. "I respect that you're loyal to your friend but you need to get to class."

"You think you can just walk in here and make trouble for somebody like Josh Marshall?"

"I'm about to give Josh a call, actually."

"But he's in that conference room there."

"Josh Senior."

"You know-" Harry broke off, completely bewildered now. "How do you know- who _are _you?"

"You don't need to worry about all that. I respect your loyalty but you don't need to do anything, son. Everything's gonna be taken care of."

_Damn it. That's just what I'm afraid of. This could be embarrassing for the Marshalls, for me… I better clear out. I got work to do._

Harry backed away, aware that he might have moved in too quickly, that he was dealing with someone whose connections and influence he just didn't know and therefore was over his head.

"Nobody walks in here and messes with the Marshalls," Harry promised, pointing a shaking finger at the old guy. "Here at Xavier, we- we take care of our friends."

Then he all but fled down the hallway, jumped down a stairwell and power-walked across The Lawn as rapidly as he dared. He knew he had to appear worried to anyone who could see his expression, but he couldn't just go sprinting around like there was a fire. That would mean even more stares, more questions. Jeez, that old guy was scary. It was like he'd done a Master's in Badass with a Minor in Intimidating Stares.

After making it to the bathroom closest to his next class, Harry dug out his phone and sent a new plan to Trevor. A million rumors about what happened in the parking lot would be circulating Xavier by the end of today, muddying the waters so much that no one, not even this mysterious, hawk-eyed old dude, could see- or show anyone else- what was at the bottom.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Josh Marshall, Junior, put his head in his hands as Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs left the room again. It was a tactic of his, one of several. Questioning him and Riley Janssen alone, questioning them together, leaving them alone, and now, leaving them together here in this meeting room. Just letting them stew. This had been going on for… forever. More than an hour, easy.

Trying to deceive the veteran detective had gone out the window immediately; it had only briefly entered Josh's mind. He had been raised to be better than that, had been taught not to lie his entire life. And even if he had wanted to, he was dealing with Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the man who had saved Dad in the Gulf War.

Whether he knew it or not, Gibbs was a legend in the Marshall household. His name was spoken with a reverence by Josh and his siblings, as if syllables alone conveyed what it meant to be a man of honor.

There was no way Josh would willingly lie to such a man. He deserved nothing but the truth.

As Agent Gibbs closed the door to the meeting room, Josh sighed.

"My Dad's gonna kill me."

"Well, I sure hope he does," Riley retorted. "Hey, you think I can watch?"

"Maybe you oughta stay in the fucking hospital next time," Josh replied with icy calm. "Enjoy those bruises tomorrow, by the way. My pleasure. Your face looks like shit."

"I always hated you fucking rich kids," Janssen remarked, glaring furiously at Josh. "Looking forward to actually facing consequences for once?"

Josh was about to say something nasty when he felt a sharp pain in his side again. He winced and put a hand to his right back pocket.

"Oh, what _now_?" Janssen asked irritably.

Ignoring him, Josh reached into the pocket the pain was coming from and fished out the key for his brother's car. The bulbous, squared-off black plastic fob had broken in the fight, allowing the metal key itself to hang at a clearly-unintended angle. The polished silver of the "winged B" still gleamed in the light coming in from the windows, but Josh's heart sank all the same.

"Oh… _shit_," Josh sighed, unable to think of anything else. He tossed the broken key fob down on the solid oak table. It landed with an audible "thunk" and slid a few inches toward where Janssen was sitting on the opposite side.

Janssen frowned at the damaged key fob, momentarily distracted. "What the hell is that? What's a 'B'? Did the M and the W go MIA or something?"

"Never seen the keys to a damn Bentley before?" Josh sneered. "Maybe you would have if your parents really loved you."

Rage flared again in the other boy's eyes. "You better stop now," he warned.

"Or you'll what?" Josh demanded. "You busted the keys to my brother's Bentley-"

"You started that fight, buddy."

"I'm not your buddy."

"Yeah, I'm just the guy that's gonna shove that stupid Bentley up your snobby ass if you keep talking."

Josh felt himself getting angry, as angry as he'd been out in the parking lot. "You'll regret that," he promised, pointing at Janssen.

"You better be glad Gibbs saved your ass," Janssen said. "I'd have fucked you up if he hadn't stopped me, rich kid."

"What you don't get is that you were fighting a black belt," Josh replied. "And not just any black belt. The Way of the Fist, man. No Mercy. If Agent Gibbs hadn't stopped me, I would've put your lights out. I can do it."

"Whatever you say, rich kid."

"For someone who says he hates rich kids so much you sure wanna date one," Josh remarked. "With me, it makes sense, I mean- Makayla could've told you who _I_ am, and that her sister's taken. The Wallaces are rich, man, more than you'd believe."

"You're dating Melissa?" Janssen asked, frowning uncertainly.

"Man," Josh sighed, "is that bruising going to your head? Yes, I'm dating her. She's my whole world. You wouldn't understand."

"Make sure to thank her for leaving Mak out to dry all the time," Janssen snapped, folding his arms over his chest. "She's a great big sister."

"Oh, so she's _Mak_ to you, huh?" Josh asked, grinning humorlessly. "My, my. Got a thing for Wallace girls, huh? Can't say I blame you; they're as beautiful as they are classy. But, uh, lemme tell you, dude, I wasn't kidding about you not meeting the dress code. I showed up for this year's senior class party in a convertible that costs three-hundred grand, in a bathing suit that cost a thousand. The watch I got Missy for her birthday was a Rolex. She wears it every day."

Janssen sighed explosively. "I don't care. Stop bragging. You're lying, anyway."

"Am I?" Josh demanded. "I'm the one that _goes_ to this school, genius, and there really is a 2006 Bentley Azure outside that's registered to my brother. Harry Potter and Woodes Rogers rode with Chris and me in it to the pool party in June and trust me, we got noticed. Just like we wanted."

"God, dude, what is your fucking _point_?" Janssen burst out.

"My point-" Josh smiled. "I don't know, did you have plans for a date with Makayla today? I can get new keys to the Bentley easy. Feel like driving it for that date later? That Azure's so smooth you'll think you're sitting in an office chair in a millionaire's house."

"Huh?" Janssen asked, frowning uncertainly. "What're you talking about?"

Josh dropped the act and shook his head in disgust. "_Fuck_, dude, I was _joking_! _Hell _no I'm not loaning you my brother's car! I'd rather run it into a lake!"

"So are you gonna get to the point or not?"

"My point is that I have all stuff I said _plus_ a Range Rover and I _still _don't know if it'll be enough to impress my girl's parents. You think I'm snobby? Wait 'till Makayla starts getting ideas about making whatever you two have going on 'official'. Like, 'I want you to meet my parents' official." Josh shook his head. "This is a world you've never even seen before. You just don't know how fast Mrs. Wallace will toss you outta the house. You're just poor trash to her. You'll see. You'll see soon enough."

"You shut up."

Josh shrugged. "I'm only telling you what's gonna happen if you get any more involved with Makayla. I hope you weren't planning on asking her out again, or whatever. I know more about her family than you do, and seriously- if _I'm_ worried about Missy's mom liking me, what chance do _you_ have?"

"I said shut _up_!"

"You better walk away from Makayla now. If you stay, all you'll get is pain. Maybe her mother will accept me, but she'll never give you a second look." Josh shrugged again, adjusting the family crest pendant over his tie. "Don't take it so personal, dude. Some families are just better than others." Suddenly Josh grinned. "You know, like mine versus yours."

Something deadly sparked in Janssen's eyes, and he stood up so fast that his leather swivel chair almost fell over. He started around the closest end of the table.

"Hey, man," Josh warned, "you better not-"

Janssen was getting closer. A lot closer. Taken by surprise, Josh tried to gather himself, but Janssen moved in and put a grip of steel to his neck, pressing the silver chain of the family crest pendant into Josh's skin. Josh tucked his neck in and made to push Janssen away, but he mostly just succeeded in keeping the airway open a little bit. This wasn't good. He was going to have to-

"Hey! Hey, can I get through one phone call without the two of you trying to kill each other?" Agent Gibbs demanded, rushing in from the doorway and forcing the two boys apart.

Josh took a ragged breath, let it out. "That was my fault, sir… provoked him."

"You still want more?" Janssen snarled, but Gibbs kept him at bay.

"Riley, I told you, let _me_ handle this!"

"I don't have to listen to you!"

"Sir, I said that was my fault," Josh gasped. "He thinks I called him trash."

"You _did_, asshole!"

"I said Mrs. Wallace is gonna think you are," Josh replied.

"What about in the parking lot? Huh? C'mon, let's go _right now_!"

"Jeez, man," Josh burst out, "when's enough _enough _for you?"

"C'mere and I'll show you!"

"Riley," Gibbs ordered, "calm down! Take a deep breath and calm down. The fight's over. I don't care what he said."

"I know he's… got a thing for… my girlfriend's… sister," Josh managed to say, still getting his breath back. "His parents are… big shots. High-class as hell. He… there's no chance. Sir." He paused. "That's all I said, sir."

"You fucking liar!" Janssen snarled. "Howbout going on and on about your brother's stupid piece of shit Bentley and your thousand-dollar underwear and-"

"I was just proving my point!" Josh interrupted. "It's the truth, man."

"Riley, take a seat for a minute. We're going soon."

"Yeah," Janssen sighed, "whatever." He glared daggers at Gibbs and at Josh, then went to take a seat as far from the both of them as possible.

Curiosity momentarily overrode the pain, and Josh called out, "Why do you talk to him like that? Don't know greatness when you see it?"

Janssen scoffed, slouching in his chair. "Greatness."

"You wouldn't talk like that if you'd seen his medals."

"Fuck his medals."

That got Josh standing upright again, but suddenly the pain quadrupled and he nearly threw up. He hunched over, taking small, careful breaths, counting backwards from ten.

"Take it easy," Gibbs said. "Easy. Just breathe, okay? Can you do that?"

Josh nodded. "Yessir."

"Does America's Versailles have an infirmary?"

"Versailles-" Josh coughed a few times, managing to fit in a few laughs as well. "Yeah- yes, sir. Mrs. Byron heads it up."

"I told your old man I'd send you there," Gibbs went on. "Can you get there by yourself?"

"Yessir," Josh said, nodding. He gasped, winced. "I'll be fine."

"How're those nuts feeling, rich boy?" Janssen asked waspishly, but Gibbs interrupted him from saying more.

"Riley, we'll talk this out soon enough, believe me! Just take a breath and wait a minute!"

"Whatever, man."

"He seriously has no right… talking like that, sir," Josh remarked.

"Don't you worry about him," Gibbs said. "Just focus on getting to the infirmary. You can make it. I know Marshalls are built tough."

"Yessir," Josh nodded, "we are."

"All right. Better get going and make sure you're okay. I'm sure we'll talk again."

"Yessir," Josh said. "I hope we do. Different from this, I mean. Uh, sir."

"Oh, just go kiss his ass already!"

"You show him some respect!" Josh half-shouted back. "What the _hell's _the matter with you?!"

"Son," Gibbs said firmly but gently, "go get checked out. Don't worry about me. I'll take care of Riley."

Josh nodded. He wanted to say more, wanted to apologize, say "Thank you for saving my Dad," and kick Riley clear off the Xavier grounds all at once. Most of all, Josh wanted to express what an honor it was to finally meet the one and only Leroy Jethro Gibbs, but words failed him. The moment was too awkward, too unexpected.

With no further options left to him, Josh scooped up the broken Bentley keys and pocketed them, did his best to straighten his school uniform, and headed out the conference room door.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

"-so anyway, I told Nicole to tell him to get lost already; it's not like he ever had a chance with her. But I think she kind of likes, him, you know? Because she keeps letting him hang around."

Brittany Marshall shook her head, trying not to laugh. Jessica Adams just had to fill all her friends in on the latest gossip, and being ranked among the coolest of the cool out of Xavier Prep's 8th grade girls, Brittany was one of the first Jessica would always talk to.

"Is it true your brother beat up that dude who's been showing up in that old heap lately?" Jessica asked curiously. "Everyone's saying they had a fight."

"I don't know," Brittany admitted. "I haven't had a chance to talk to Josh, and Chris is still resting, and Cassandra's probably gonna just kill both of them."

"A lot of the senior boys are _super_ pissed-"

"I'm pissed, Jess. I don't like anybody messing with my family." Brittany stared her friend down for a few moments, then turned back to what she'd been doing.

Going through her locker one more time, Brittany finally located her English class notebook. She yanked it out of the stack of textbooks and notebooks, only to practically fling it out into the hallway.

"Aw, d-darn it," Brittany grouched. "I'll get it."

"Brit, just make some kid on aid get it for you," Jessica cracked, laughing at her own joke.

The hallway was pretty crowed right now, and Brittany wanted that notebook. She wasn't going to come to class looking like an idiot. She dodged through the sea of students as quick as she could, but swore under her breath when someone stepped on it, leaving a nice, dusty shoeprint on the front cover.

More determined than ever to get to that stupid notebook, Brittany got within arm's reach, knelt-

-and slapped her hand right on top of Sean Harrington's. He looked up with those cool blue eyes, briefly surprised, and seemed genuinely startled when he met Brittany's gaze.

"Oh, uh- hey," he said, flashing a brilliant white smile.

"Hey."

"Here, lemme get this for you," Sean said. He picked the notebook up and stood, brushing it off carefully.

"I can get it," Brittany insisted, but without any force; she was too busy looking at that stylish cut Sean had going on with his golden blond hair. How much had he paid a stylist to get it looking like that? He could have walked off a modeling poster for Ralph Lauren or Brooks Brothers.

"I don't mind," Sean said, flashing another smile- that one was definitely on purpose. "Let's get back to your locker. I don't wanna make you late for your class."

"Aren't you _in_ my class?" Brittany asked, recalling that Sean Harrington sat second from the front, far right side of the classroom. He'd won school-wide fame for mooning Georgetown Prep during a heated exchange during a JV soccer game, and expanded that incident into a universal reputation as an incorrigible showboater, prankster, and romantic. He was fit, classically handsome, and a gifted runner and soccer goalie.

"Sure am," Sean nodded. He smiled. "Well, look, here's your notebook. I hope I cleaned it off all right."

"It's fine," Brittany said, appreciatively noticing that the dusty footprint was all but gone.

"So," Sean went on, "I- uh- I was wondering, did you have any big plans this weekend?"

OhmyGod!

"Maybe," Brittany replied, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Well, if you want, we could go ice skating. I think that'd be really… cool."

"Oh, wow," Brittany said, but she laughed.

Sean started to reply, but a red-haired girl slipped on the polished floor and practically crashed into Brittany, practically knocking her sideways into her locker. Jessica, who had been watching the scene with Sean and Brittany play out with gleeful fascination, emitted a startled squawk and stumbled back against her own locker without any further assistance.

"_Watch_ it!" Sean barked, stepping forward and shoving the girl hard. She fell, and he glared down at her. "You're not _special_! But _she _is, so apologize!"

"S-sorry," the girl blurted, already crying. "I'm sorry-"

"Sean," Brittany began, "you don't have to-"

"I got this," Sean assured her. He turned back to the red-haired girl on the floor. "Oh, _God_, it's _you_," Sean hissed. "Why don't you just _get outta here_, nobody here wants to listen to you _cry_!"

"Sean, you help her up _right now_," an older girl interrupted. "Or I'll give you something else to worry about."

Looking like he wanted to argue, Sean rounded on his sister, but Lynn Harrington just stared him down, arms crossed. Gradually Sean deflated, and finally he turned back to Makayla Wallace.

"I'm sorry I was mean to you," Sean told her. He knelt and reached out a hand. "I'm just stressed 'cause it's close to exams."

Makayla looked like she wanted to jump up and flee at top speed, but Lynn gently set a hand on her shoulder. "Listen. My brother's an idiot sometimes. It doesn't mean anybody here hates you."

Brittany hesitantly spoke up again. "Uh- is this really the best place-"

"Sean decided he wanted this to happen right here, so it's all happening right here," Lynn replied calmly. "Maybe he should think more before he starts something."

"I-I gotta go," Makayla Wallace said, and she fled down the hall, into the crowd. Brittany spotted her going into the girls' bathroom.

"Oh, man," Lynn sighed. "Brittany, you get to class before Cassandra levels a city block or something. She's on patrol on this floor today and she's in no mood. Sean, you better hope Makayla Wallace isn't in there crying."

"Aw, jeez, Lynn," Sean whined, "can't you just leave me alone? You're embarrassing me!"

Lynn turned and glared down at her brother. "Let me catch you bullying a kid, any kid, one more time. I'm not a prefect, but guess what, plenty of my friends are. Brittany, you sure you still wanna let this bum take you out?"

Brittany and Sean had not-so-secretly been swapping looks and asking their friends about each other for… weeks. It was all so confusing. A lot of rumors had been flying around since August that this boy or that boy was gonna ask Brittany out, but Sean was the first who'd seriously tried it. The Marshall name was intimidating, and not only was Sean Harrington brave enough to ask anyway, he'd done it with style.

Plus, all Brittany could come up with right now was seeing him half-naked and sweaty at the end of a shirts-and-skins soccer game one afternoon. He hadn't seen her, but she'd seen him, and the view had been spectacular. Why was that all Brittany could think of right here, right now? Why?

"I-I-" Brittany stammered. She tried to call on her elder sister's steel nerves and intimidating manner, but Sean Harrington, no shirt on a hot day, just kept coming back. "I… well- I-"

Lynn sighed. "It's okay. I get it. Seriously, go to class. Sean, you'll always be my brother, but right now, I'd like to trade you for someone else." She left, heading for the girls' bathroom.

Sean looked at his sister, then over at Brittany, then Jessica, then the students who'd been standing around, watching the scene. That last seemed to do him in. Sean spun around so fast he almost tripped on his own feet. "Uh- I could- carry your books," he blurted, looking almost desperately at Brittany.

"Sure," Brittany agreed, practically throwing the books at him in her hurry to get out of there.

"Let's get to class," Jessica said quickly.

"Sorry about my sister," Sean said in a hushed voice. "My Dad's got a great driver. He won't bother us."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

Neither of them said anything, but Brittany was grateful for the excuse to just walk forward and pretend nothing else was happening right this second. This was all too much. Her first serious date had just been set in motion, except Makayla Wallace had shown up, and now Sean Harrington, the 8th grade King of Cool, had lost his cool, and Brittany felt mortified like never before. She could feel the stares from open classroom doors, from the students still in the hallway.

Maybe Sean had done the right thing. Brittany had been keeping a safe distance from Makayla Wallace this fall, eager as she was to make the right impression and avoid "losers" and "problems." Though newer rumors said she was some kind of art prodigy, Brittany had heard the other stories plenty of times, and one of those was that Makayla Wallace was just not meant for Xavier, that she brought trouble and Drama everywhere she went.

The normally-orderly House Marshall was in an uproar right now. Chris had been hurt and Josh was out of his mind over it, Cassandra was doing her best to imitate a time-bomb, Dad was bringing out the iron fist and… it just went on.

_Maybe she is nothing but trouble_, Brittany thought ruefully. _I've seen her around, we sit in a few of the same classes. And now look. All she needed to do was bump into me and it's messed up a whole day for me. A whole day. Sean's probably rethinking even asking me out. Amazing. Wonderful. Just wonderful._

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Mrs. Byron, the head nurse, looked up from her desk as Josh came in out of the bitter cold, and immediately gave an exasperated sigh.

"Josh Marshall, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Aw, it wasn't that bad, Mrs. Byron," Josh fussed sheepishly, looking away. He winced and hunched over, but still went on, "I'm fine."

"You walked over here looking like this to tell me you're _fine_?" Mrs. Byron asked, shaking her head. "All right, what happened? It's just me and Mr. Davis right now, so talk away. And have a seat right now."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh said, taking a spot on the waiting area's padded bench. "I just got in a fight, Mrs. Byron; that's all."

"Did the other kid give you a good kick or two?"

Josh blushed. "Aww, c'mon, Mrs. Byron," he whined. "I'm okay, I just got kicked in the nuts-"

"-And that means you're getting checked out for bruising, for starters," Mrs. Byron finished for him. "Into the first examination room over there, Mister Marshall. And don't argue with me. Down to your underwear with the door closed. I'm sending over to Mrs. Jacobs at the tailor's and getting you another uniform. That one's going to the dry cleaner's this afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am," Josh said, getting up slowly.

"Can you tell me who it was?" Mrs. Byron asked.

After a moment's thought, Josh shook his head. He was going to be in enough trouble just with Dad over this. People would find out and they were going to ask questions about the fight. Above all, they were going to talk, talk, talk.

Josh had enough to worry about. Mrs. Byron could be trusted- many Xavier students had confided in her over the years- but Josh just needed to keep this one for himself. At least for now.

"No, ma'am, I can't," Josh said.

"As long as this isn't going to court, I suppose I can let that go. At least for now," Mrs. Byron said resignedly. "Into the exam room. I'll call your parents and let them know you're over here."

"Yes, ma'am."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Five minutes later, Josh was blushing as red as his neatly-combed hair while Mr. Davis, the deputy around here, poked and prodded and asked him a lot of questions he didn't like answering at all. Sitting naked on the thinly-padded bed didn't exactly help matters, and it was damn near freezing in here.

But the good news was, everything was working fine, no lasting harm done. Josh pretended to brush that off like he'd expected it all along, but he felt immensely relieved all the same. He was a skilled and gifted fighter and had never lost once in his life, not outside of the training mat in the dojo or the boxing ring. But that Janssen kid had gotten him good. Twice. It was as painful to his pride as it was to his favorite-

"Josh? Hello! Josh?"

"Yeah?" Josh asked, snapping out of his reverie. He pulled a face. "Mr. Davis, can I please get dressed already?"

The 30-year-old man pulled off his examination gloves, put some hand sanitizer on the ebony-brown skin, and said, "Well, I simply don't know. Can you?"

Josh sighed in exasperation. "Mr. Davis, sir, may I please get dressed already?"

"Yes, you certainly may. As I said, there's been no lasting harm done. As I said you'll want to take it easy for the next few days and come back here in a week to be sure."

Reaching for his boxers, Josh wondered again why on Earth this place had to have an ex-British Army medic hanging around, but refrained from asking that aloud. Mr. Davis was a good guy but he was bossy and officious as hell. But just as Mrs. Byron was, the kids here liked him, trusted him. He was a professional above all else.

Mrs. Byron had been as good as her word; in just a few minutes she'd gotten another Brooks Brothers navy blue blazer sent over, pinned Josh's silver Prefect badge to it, even made sure that the white t-shirt and khaki pants- also Brooks Brothers- were exactly Josh's hand-measured size. It all fit perfectly, right down to the black dress socks.

Once he was fully dressed again, Josh spent at least twenty minutes in front of a mirror, fixing his hair and doing his best to look like he hadn't been in a fight at all. Luckily, Janssen hadn't gotten any good blows to the face. The worst of it had been below the belt. Janssen, on the other hand, would probably be feeling the full impact of Josh's strength and skill as a fighter tomorrow when all the bruising really started.

Still, none of that changed the fact that execution was coming, scheduled whenever Dad happened to get here. As Josh waited back out on that bench again, he sat with his elbows on his thighs, trying to replay the day in his head, wondering how he'd gotten himself into this. He wished Chris were here. Chris could have helped Josh sort through this.

Even now, being separated from his twin pained Josh. They had spent more time apart in the past few days than they had in the last sixteen years. A lifetime of never being separated for even twenty-four hours, and now everything had changed. It was all Riley Janssen's fault. Josh may have regretted stirring up so much trouble for Agent Gibbs, who seemed to have taken custody of Janssen or something, but he didn't really regret giving Riley what he fully deserved. Nobody crossed the Marshall family without paying for it.

_Maybe we're becoming like Dad wants, like the Malfoys or something_, Josh thought. _Except without serving an evil overlord and everything. Christ. We're not like that. We just make you pay if you fuck with us. Dad said that's okay, but I doubt he meant fight some poor kid in the parking lot. Jeez. I'm gonna die._

Josh looked up and glanced out the windowpanes of the infirmary door. No sign of Dad yet. Oh, he and Mom were gonna string Josh up over the interstate somewhere. Maybe he could see Melissa one more time in private as a last request.

"Mrs. Byron, may I please have my phone back?"

"It's charging behind the desk here."

"But I gotta talk to my girl. And my friends. They're all gonna want to know where I am."

"Don't even try to tell me Harry Potter, Trevor Bedford, and Woodes Rogers aren't all spinning up some story to cover for you," Mrs. Byron replied, giving Josh a mildly reproachful look.

Josh hesitated. "Um- you know, they, um, probably… well, I guess… I mean, gonna be honest, they probably are."

"They definitely are. If Harry doesn't take over his dad's banks, he'll be trying to get you to hire him as your PR agent."

"But they don't have PR agents in the Marines."

"Tell him that." Mrs. Byron laughed, shaking her head. "He certainly turned Trevor Bedford around with you, didn't he? That fight you two had back in August…"

"Yeah, I remember, Mrs. Byron," Josh replied, managing to laugh. "Scared the hel-heck out of some newbies, too. Karate in the halls!"

"And were your parents very happy about that?"

"Um, no."

"Was Dr. Jenkins?"

"No. Uh- I'm honestly- ma'am, I can't lose my Prefect's badge!" Josh frowned, worried in a whole new way. "I just can't, ma'am. That wouldn't be- I can't- I can't have that happen."

"First things first, Josh."

"Yeah. I mean, yes, m-"

The infirmary door opened, and Dad walked in. Erect, lean, a living, breathing monument to power, to dignity, to charisma and success, he closed the door behind him and carefully shook the snow off his heavy black overcoat before sweeping his iron gaze down on the teen who carried his name into the next generation.

It was a burden as well as a gift, and right now, it definitely felt more the former.

"Mrs. Byron," Josh Marshall, Senior said politely, "thank you for taking such good care of my son. My thanks to Mr. Davis, too. Is he around?"

"He stepped out for just a minute, sir," Mrs. Byron replied. "Your boy's perfectly fine, but he'll be a little sore for a couple of days, most likely."

"Yes, I heard all about it," Dad said neutrally. "Would you mind if I took him off your hands? I think it would be best if I headed back to Administration and signed him out for the day."

"Not at all," Mrs. Byron answered. "Please give Elizabeth my best. I wish all the school Governors had her wonderful gift with people. She's very well-liked and respected around here, just as you are."

"I will," Dad promised. "Thank you again."

After signing a few things, Dad swept out the door into the moderate snowfall, correctly assuming Josh would follow closely behind. Heart pounding, cheeks burning despite the cold, Josh thought of a million explanations and apologies as Dad strode back across The Lawn to sign him out, then out to the diesel Suburban that Dad liked so much.

As the diesel cranked up and Dad backed out of the parking space, Josh blurted out, "GottagetnewkeysfortheBentleyDad."

"I'll take care of it," Dad replied. "And I'll make sure to get the wipers raised on the Azure and the Range Rover so they don't get stuck."

"Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome," Dad replied. Whatever his mood was, Dad never failed to help his kids. Never. It was one of the many reasons all five of his children would have gladly followed him anywhere, just like his Marines.

"Dad, I left my phone-"

"No, you didn't," Dad answered. "I got it with me."

"Yessir." Josh figured he must not have been paying much attention; even now, his time in the infirmary was a blur, all mixed together, like the rest of the day was whenever he tried to remember.

It figures that Dad could pick up my phone and I just didn't even notice.

Only when they got back to the hotel and Josh Senior and Junior were alone in that reserved meeting room did the topic of the day get addressed.

Dad sat down in the chair beside Josh, stared at him for a moment, then spoke one simple, irresistible command.

"Talk."

* * *

**A/N: 7-16-2020**

**So, fun story! I *originally* wrote and published this on 7-16-2020; made a big push to get it done during the week. Unsurprisingly, I overlooked many shortcomings and omitted content I should have included.**

**I don't know whether I can really defend Harry's decision to try 'persuading' Gibbs not to press the matter at Xavier, but as elitist and arrogant as Harry is, he is humane, generous and loyal to those he views as friends and marks as equals. He values his friendship with Josh and believes he is protecting his friend and doing right by him by guarding him against a possible threat.**

**Sean Harrington is based off of two boys about that age that I knew in real life. Both could be and often were intelligent, polite, came from stable homes- but they could both be mean, even cruel to other kids sometimes, especially if they thought that kid was "beneath" them, namely in terms of having less money or social status, or both. Bullies are rarely the abject, desperately insecure failures American society seems to want them to be. They're in reality among the best-liked and most confident individuals in their peer group, with confidence to spare. It's difficult realizing someone with so many genuinely likeable characteristics can also be a bully. That's a much harder truth to face.**

**Xavier Preparatory School is going to have elitism and arrogance going around quite a bit; it has an unfortunate tendency to come with the territory for young people who have grown up with a LOT and know it. It's easy, especially without the maturity needed for balance, to think that superiority by happenstance- being born to the manor and not the apartment or the farmhouse- means superiority in all things. Good parenting can do a great deal of good to counter that mentality.**

**I'd say, overall, that Xavier has its bullies but not in some vastly higher percentage than a standard American public school. I think people unfamiliar with private schooling tend to focus on fictional depictions of private schools, which typically present at least a handful of bullies and/or snobby elites who look down on the kid with the scholarship.**

**A Bentley is an extremely ostentatious car; it's designed to be that way. Michael Winner described them as "I've got a lot of money, and here's proof of it: I've bought this car!" That Bentley will be seen up close later on, not that it's suddenly becoming a major plot device or anything.**

**The scene with Brittany Marshall, Jessica Adams (an OC introduced by Jenny wrens in "Adjustments," Chapter 19), Sean Harrington and Lynn Harrington was not originally going to be in this chapter. I added it last-minute, but honestly, I'm glad I did. Unlike Makayla Wallace, Brittany Marshall has fit in well with the popular students right from the start, and her opinion carries a lot of weight with the rest of the popular 8****th**** graders. She's fair and humane, however, and her status hasn't gone to her head, so she didn't hesitate to take Sean Harrington to task when he bullied Makayla so casually.**

**Jenny wrens is a major driving force in my work on this story; it's based off and inspired by her work, after all. Be sure to read and review her work to your heart's content!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was not supposed to take this long to write. I had meant about a week or two, not more than a month. And to complicate things further, Jenny wrens and I have ended up tying "Adjustments" and "Perspective" together. So if I end up taking longer than planned to write a new chapter, the delay affects more than just me. But Jenny wrens is patient and understanding, and I managed to get the chapter done eventually.**

**All of the feedback for Chapter 9 is greatly appreciated. I hope that Chapter 10 is worth the wait to any and all readers.**

* * *

He sat in one college-prep course after another, feeling like his teachers had all decided the seniors' brains should each be wrung like a sponge and grilled like a steak in anticipation of exams. The Prefects had that awards ceremony to get ready for, too, and with it coming up so soon Woodes had to make sure his remarks were properly memorized. But did that mean his teachers cut him a break? No, sir, not at all.

After the last classes let out for the day, Woodes was headed back to the Prefects' council room when Cassandra Marshall charged in the other door, bringing a startled-looking 8th grade girl and a frightened 8th grade boy with her. Alan Parks was hurrying along with them, trying to keep up.

"Oh, Woodes, there you are," Cassandra sighed in exasperation. She grabbed the 8th grade boy's arm and twisted it behind his back, and his handsome features quickly contorted in pain. "Now, you tell him what you told me. Tell him!"

"Ah!" the boy cried. Harrington, Woodes remembered, his name was Sean Harrington. His parents were wealthy bankers, owning a chain of banks in Northern Virginia.

"It's not even that bad, Sean, now start talking."

"I-I pushed Makayla Wallace when she bumped into Brittany Marshall while I was asking her out," Sean said in a strained voice. "That was it, that's all I did! It wasn't even that bad!"

"You tell him what you said to her!"

"Ow! Okay! I said- I said, she's not special! I mean she doesn't belong here! All she does is cry, she's always crying, and I just said she's not special!"

Woodes looked around the common area of the dorm nervously. Cassandra was normally short-tempered and brusque; only during flying lessons or when talking to Lukas did had Woodes ever seen her smile. It was puzzling to see her so angry over mistreatment of a girl she had repeatedly said she didn't like anyway, but if a teacher or the Head came in here and saw this, Cassandra and Woodes would be lucky to still graduate in another semester.

"Jessica Adams," Woodes said, greeting the 8th grade girl with forced calm. "You saw this?"

"Yes," Jessica answered. "I was just- I was too stunned to say anything at the time. I didn't do anything about it. I just stood there. So when Cassandra- I just told her what happened when she asked. I don't know."

"You did the right thing," Woodes assured her.

"Let me go!" Sean protested, trying to twist away. Cassandra's pretty face darkened, and Sean suddenly cried out. "Ow! Stop!"

"All right, now you listen to me," Cassandra hissed at him. "I have all the witnesses I need. I don't care if you hate Makayla Wallace. I don't care if you hate me. But you better go right up to Makayla first thing tomorrow morning. You better find her, and you better hope she lets you tell her how sorry you are. And the next time you knock over one of my girls, Sean, you have the decency to make it _look_ like something!"

Cassandra let go and practically hurled Sean Harrington at Woodes. The younger boy rebounded, staggered, and crashed to the floor, hiding his face as he fought back tears. Cassandra stormed out, leaving a stunned silence behind her.

"She's been so quiet all day," Alan said faintly. "I don't know what happened. I don't know where that came from. She heard about it and just blew. She was furious."

Woodes reached down and helped Sean Harrington to his feet. "I'm sorry about that."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Sean protested weakly. "It wasn't that bad. I'm going."

"You should apologize, Sean," Jessica told him.

"I'm going to, Jess!" Sean shouted, rounding on her. "I'll go say I'm sorry if I can say it over her crying! It's not my fault she doesn't belong here!"

"That's not your call to make," Alan told him. "And you acting like a bully doesn't make anything better for anyone."

"Can I go?" Sean asked resentfully, his eyes reddening with tears.

"Make this right," Woodes said. "Let me worry about Cassandra."

"All right," Sean grumbled. "I'm gonna go get a nice speech ready or whatever."

"I think you should," Jessica said, crossing her arms.

"That was actually sarcasm," Sean shot back. "And you better remember who your real friends are, Jess. It's not my goddamn fault that Makayla Wallace is always crying like she skinned her fucking knee."

"Language!" Woodes told him sternly. "Sean, you're cool, you wanna be cool, we get it. But you will _not_ act like a bully. It sounds like you didn't just start today, either. I'm going to ask around. If I find out you've been getting away with other behavior you shouldn't have, you'll be talking to all the Prefects at a Council. Do you understand?"

"Yes, _sir_," Sean glowered. "Can I go?"

"Yes. And Sean?"

"Yeah?"

"You will apologize to Makayla. And you will mean it. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Your arm feel all right?"

"About half-twisted off," Sean said bitterly. "I'll be fine."

"Let me know if you need anything, including help with what to say when you apologize. Good afternoon."

Sean mumbled something and slouched off, trying to fix up his mussed hair.

"Uh… thanks," Jessica Adams said. "I never- I didn't know Cassandra could do that."

"She's not the nicest person I ever met," Woodes said. "But she's definitely a fighter. Makayla shouldn't take it personally that Cassandra doesn't like her that much."

"Why's that?"

"Well, she doesn't really like anybody," Alan snickered. "Not exactly the warmest or fuzziest person out there."

"No, not really," Woodes agreed. He sighed. "She just showed up and disappeared. I wonder what's got into her today."

"Do you… uh, need me to tell you anything else?"

"Does Cassandra know all the details?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. I'll get them from her. Have a good afternoon."

"Thanks, Woodes."

"Sure thing."

After Jessica had gone, Woodes sighed wearily. "So Josh got in a fight with that dude who's been showing up here, huh?"

"Yeah," Alan replied. "Lot of people think the other guy started it."

"Maybe he did," Woodes said. "I don't know. We'll just have to deal with it when we see him again tomorrow."

"The whole school's talking about this, Woodes," Alan said nervously. "Place is going crazy."

"I know. I've been trying to keep my mind on the end-of-term awards, exams, and that's not even including all the holiday stuff we gotta do. Caroling in the snow and all that."

"No snow out there right now, Woodes."

"Yeah. Well, we're going anyway."

Alan laughed. "All right, man. You're the boss."

"You know it," Woodes quipped. "Let's just get this place in order again in time for the Christmas break."

"We can try, Woodes. We can try."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Things hadn't exactly gone that well when Dad had first gotten Josh alone.

As angry as Josh had been when he'd confronted Janssen out in the Xavier parking lot, he had lost all sense of bravado once he had to face Dad by himself. And by that time, removed from the heat of the moment entirely, Josh had started really thinking about what he'd done and what he was getting into. It went without saying that he relayed everything that happened, not a single omission. Dad would have made an excellent interrogator.

Finally, Dad said to take a break and meet him up on the top floor in another thirty minutes. Josh took that as an excuse to bolt over to Chris' room, but Chris was passed out cold. Letting himself in and sitting down beside his twin, though, ended up doing Josh a world of good. His brother had conked out watching TV; the remote still hung loosely from his hand. Josh set it aside on the end table to Chris' left, found a pillow to lean up against on the couch's right side, and just closed his eyes for twenty minutes.

When he opened his eyes again, Josh remembered Melissa- partly because he'd actually started dreaming, and it had been about him and her. He still had his phone with him, and tons of people had sent him text messages this afternoon ever since the fight with Janssen. They wanted to know who, what, when, where, why, how. They wanted to know just about everything.

Josh sent a few quick messages to let people know he was okay and that he would fill them in later. Melissa, though, he stopped and wrote back to in greater detail.

_Babe, I started that fight with Janssen, Josh texted before he could stop himself. I just got really mad at him._

_R u ok? Really?_

_Not hurt_, Josh wrote back. _Too much going on. Hard to think straight. I gotta go talk to Dad now._

_R u in trouble? Im really worried._

_I'll be ok, Josh assured her. I'll figure it out._

_Mak left school again._

_She ran off?_

_Left early. Agent Gibbs had someone come get her._

_Coming back to the hotel?_

_Yes._

Josh hesitated._ I can stop by after Dad chews my butt._

_Ok._

_Sorry I didn't answer you. Didn't mean to scare you._

_I'm just glad ur ok._

_Me too. Maybe in trouble but not hurt._

_Dont punch any more kids today._

Josh laughed, then wrote back, _I pinky promise._

Then he got up, straightening his necktie one more time. He felt as if he were headed for his own execution. _Here lies Joshua Scott Marshall, Junior, dead at the age of sixteen. Thrown through a top-floor window at an Embassy Suits hotel because he decided to be an idiot._

Snickering at the idea, Josh gave his twin brother a fond glance before heading back out, quietly closing the door behind him.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Dad, on some whim or another, had swapped to a conference room up on the 14th floor, one lined with huge windows that stood practically from the floor to the ceiling. Amber light filled the room as the sun began to sink below the Washington skyline, and Dad was there at one of the towering window panes, taking it all in.

Josh cleared his throat as he pulled the door shut behind him. "Hey, Dad."

"Hell of a sight, isn't it?" Dad asked. "You can see it all from where I'm standing. The whole city, or close enough to it. When I first saw this place, I was homeless. Just some kid on the streets looking for his next meal, with a baby brother to feed. Now look at me." He sounded almost as if he were talking to himself.

Unsure if he should speak or not, Josh simply stood by the door and waited.

After a few more moments of gazing out at the D.C. skyline, Dad turned, regarding the boy who carried his name solemnly. "Whatever there was between you and Riley Janssen is over, you understand?"

"Yessir," Josh agreed instantly.

"It was over the minute one of my children raised a hand against a young man who is legally Leroy Jethro Gibbs' son."

"Yes, sir."

"Take a seat," Dad said, gesturing toward the long, polished hardwood table. "You and I aren't going anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Josh went to the nearest leather swivel chair and sat down, staying bolt upright despite the relaxing feel of the chair.

Dad went over to the room's miniature bar. He pulled a bottle out. "Grand Vin de Chateu Latour," he said. "1938. Had this imported from France myself back in '86. Normally, I'm a whiskey man, but I wanted something with a little more class when Chris graduated from Remington." He sighed, reaching for two wine glasses. "Turned out I didn't need to bother."

"Dad, you don't- you shouldn't open that now."

"Josh, you and I are gonna have a conversation I meant to have with you, and with Chris, next year. I had the same talk with Cassandra last year."

"A sort of- coming of age thing, Dad?"

"Yes. You still think you're a kid at the end of the day, and that it's all a game. But what you don't realize is that manhood, adulthood- it's all coming. And it's gonna be here before you can blink."

Josh cleared his throat again as Dad popped the cork and poured two glasses.

"Dad, I- I don't think this is all a game, sir."

"Yes, you do. Your Range Rover, Chris with his Bentley, the parties, the girlfriends, the prep schools. I never wanted any of you to have anything but the best. Of everything. But it's my fault for letting you take all that for granted. For not setting you straight. I let it go on and today was the result."

"Dad-"

"Think about it, Josh," Dad said, coming over with the two glasses. "You said what you did in a moment of duress, anger. You had a lot going through your head. Chris got hurt, and so did Cassandra and Lukas. Three people you love, all because they went to try and help out Riley and Makayla. Right?"

"Yes, Dad."

"You feel like Riley caused the situation Cassandra tried to bail them out of. You feel like he ran out on you and didn't say thank you. But if you hadn't on some level felt like you were just plain superior to Riley Janssen, just plain better than him, you wouldn't have said those things to him. And we both know what you said. You wouldn't have said them, would you?"

Josh considered that. "No, Dad," he answered finally. "I don't think I would've."

"The childhood I've tried to give you," Dad went on, "was the one I wish I could've had. Not the material things, but the sense of safety, the security. You've always been safe, comfortable, well-fed, and surrounded by friends and people who like you and love you."

"I know, Dad," Josh said, feeling himself tearing up a little. "We all do."

"You're luckier than I was, Josh. Luckier than you can know. You've never known fear, or hunger, or cold the way I have. And that's how I wanted it. But by doing that, I helped you forget your own roots. We're building a fine family for ourselves, Josh, and that's a wonderful thing. But you can't ever forget to be decent. Money and power are no substitute for honor and a noble disposition."

"Yes, sir."

"Ask yourself a question, Josh, just one question: Is the fucking prick I was today who I want to be for the rest of my life?"

Josh's cheeks heated with embarrassment. "Dad-"

"Well?"

"No. I mean- no. I wouldn't."

"Then you need to find a way to make it right," Dad said. "What you do and say and think reflects not just on you, but on your family, on your school. Everyone and everything who has been an influence on your life."

"I didn't know Gibbs had custody of him," Josh replied. "But I know that doesn't make it any better." He paused. "What'm I supposed to do, Dad?"

"Start by admitting you were wrong. You need to apologize to Agent Gibbs, and to Riley Janssen."

"Dad, I can't just-"

"You certainly can," Dad interrupted. "And here's something else you must not have considered: Riley Janssen has already graduated high school. He could, potentially, get to The Citadel before you if he takes my open offer to go there."

"What?" Josh almost yelped. "Dad, why would you-"

"Because he's earned it. Now, you're both sixteen. You're both boys, and you are both more than capable of being hotheaded and acting much dumber than you actually are. But Riley has been through more than you know. It's a wonder he's not much worse off than he is. And if he decides he does indeed want to go to The Citadel, and he starts there, say, next fall, he'll be a corporal when you turn up as a knob. Would you want him as your enemy? You know yourself how tough he is."

"I guess he can fight okay," Josh allowed.

"I don't blame either of you for not liking each other right now. But this ends here. You will not take things any further with a young man who is good enough to hold Gunny Gibbs' respect, and mine."

"Yes, sir."

"Something we haven't talked about: you acted emotionally today, and completely at odds with how I raised you. I want to know why. You haven't entirely been yourself since the accident, and some of this, I think, has to do with Chris. But I want you to tell me. Whatever is on your mind, whatever's stirring you up, tell me. You know I value honesty."

Josh was silent for a long time, looking at the old wine bottle but staring into nothing. Dad simply waited. Josh didn't often get asked what was really on his mind these days. Dad was so career-focused as his children were getting older, so intent on making sure they made something of themselves. It was understandable, Josh figured, but he missed the old days, way back when Dad had talked to them more just as kids.

"Chris got hurt trying to help that- that kid," Josh said quietly. "He could've… he could've died. He's not just somebody, it's like he's also me. We've never been apart, ever. Not for even a day." Josh shut his eyes, willing himself to hold back tears.

"Never be ashamed of crying," Dad said calmly. "It means you're human. And it means you care."

"I'm not losing Chris over some- some shithead outsider," Josh swore, feeling his temper flaring up. "I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to show Janssen he fucked up. I don't know. I just- I wanted- I wanted- something."

"He's not responsible for Cassandra deciding to rush off like that, Josh."

"Everything started going wrong the minute he showed up," Josh said softly, his voice shaking. "Everything. I can't- I don't know. I don't know. It's all his fault, Dad. I wanted him to pay."

"I understand." Dad leaned forward, looking at Chris intently. "Riley Janssen is not your enemy, Joshua. He's just angry and he's scared because that's all he's known for years. He's been kicked around so much he just reacts. He's never been given a chance."

"So how is that my fucking problem?" Josh croaked, his head still swimming with visions of Chris in that bed in the hospital. Hanging on, clinging to life and to his twin brother's hand, until finally he wasn't anymore, and Josh felt something break as he realized Chris was gone.

At some point Josh lost it. Crying and unable to help it, he tried to keep going, tried to talk about the pain, but nothing coherent emerged. He just sobbed and babbled. Then Dad was there, holding him, letting Josh hide his face against one of his broad shoulders.

"You haven't lost Chris," Dad said gently. "I understand. Believe me, I understand what it's like."

Josh fought to compose himself and gradually, very gradually, he made progress. "They can't have Chris, Dad. Nobody. Never. He's mine."

"You still have him. Everyone's safe."

"I wanted him to pay. I was so mad."

"You're not the first person to take a swing at Riley Janssen."

Josh sighed wearily. Dad let him sit up again, and they looked at each other.

"Let's talk about this more another time," Dad said. "Soon. You, me and your mother. If you want Chris there, I'm sure he'll be glad to be with you."

"He always is."

"But don't forget that he will have his time to go, just like you will, just like I will. Like all of us."

"I'd like it if we went together," Josh said sincerely.

"Life has a way of not always letting us have what we want, you know."

"I know, Dad." Josh paused. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"You certainly can."

"How… how'd deal with it when- when Uncle Chris died?"

"I didn't," Dad answered simply.

"What?" Josh almost yelped, startled at the idea of his father, an emblem of strength and courage to so many, being unable to deal with or handle anything.

Dad sighed, and his eyes grew distant as he continued. "I was just like you even when Chris was a senior at RMA. We'd made it through so much, run from one city to another. We survived together. Always. I was sure it would never end. I never let myself think of anything else. Then I got the word that Chris… that he was… I couldn't. I couldn't deal with it. My brother's last hours, I went to this bar across the street and got drunk. He waited for me and I didn't have the strength to walk across the street and see him one more time."

It was almost a minute before Josh could speak again. He didn't know what to say. He'd never heard any of this before, and it was likely none of his siblings had, either. Dad never liked to talk about the past, especially about Uncle Chris, other than his various approving comments of how alike Josh's twin brother and their uncle were, in looks, mannerisms, and personality.

"You… I guess you were scared." Josh said finally. It was barely more than a whisper. "That- you didn't do anything wrong."

"Like hell I did," Dad said bitterly, shaking his head. "I still hate myself for that. Be stronger than I was, Josh, and realize something. You, and the ones you love, don't always have tomorrow. Don't waste anything. Not even a second."

"I won't," Josh said, and this time he hugged Dad, feeling a rush of affection as he did so. "You're not a coward, Dad. You're a good man. Uncle Chris would be proud of you."

"He always said I was his hero," Dad said, hugging Josh back tightly. "What I never told him was he was mine."

"I think he knew that, Dad."

Eventually, Josh let go of his father and they sat there at the table, watching the last of the amber sunlight dip below the horizon.

"We haven't had a drink of this old stuff yet," Josh remarked, picking up his glass and swirling the 67-year-old wine around.

"I tell you what," Dad said. "before we make that toast I'm going to entrust you with something."

"Okay, Dad."

"I want you to get all your siblings together. Take them out to eat somewhere. Give everybody a chance to just talk and have some time together."

"We can just go to an Arby's or something," Josh considered. "Nothing fancy this time. Just something plain and simple."

"Just what I was going to suggest," Dad said approvingly. "Tomorrow you have to answer to the Headmaster. You will take responsibility for yourself and tell him the truth just as you told me. And after the day ends, you will call Agent Gibbs and inform him you are coming by to apologize to him and to Riley Janssen."

"All right, Dad."

"You will agree to any terms Agent Gibbs cares to set in order to make amends."

"Yes, Dad."

"And you're going to drive over there in your brother's Bentley. You wanted to make a big show of being a Marshall, right? Having things Riley Janssen doesn't? Well, money isn't everything. And you can survive driving that car into a middle-class suburb. I know how much the popular crowd worry about appearances, especially at a school like Xavier, but you'll live. And as a matter of fact, since the both of you have a thing for cars, you're going to let him see every inch of it if he has even the slightest interest."

"Aw, Dad-"

"No, I get it. An Azure is flashier than a Range Rover, so by all means. Let him see it. The two of you might even manage to have a civil conversation about cars when you're not busy chopping wood outside."

"Chopping wood, Dad?"

"I think you're going to find that Grandpa Marshall isn't the only one who likes old-fashioned hard work."

"I'll bet," Josh said wryly, thinking already of the old-school, blue-collar Gunny and all the stories the Marshall children had heard of him. If they could all be believed, the man had a heart of gold, an ass made of iron, and fashion tastes from the 18th century. Josh cleared his throat carefully. "So, about that toast?"

"Let's have a drink to one of the things that matters most in life. Not money, not fame or prestige. Just family. Your blood and your clan. It's all we have in this world, isn't it? Even if we don't start with one, we find one. I built one."

"You did a good job, Dad," Josh said.

"So, then- to family."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Intent on salvaging something of a very trying day, still attempting to process what Dad had shared with him about Uncle Chris, Josh took an elevator down and wandered over to his twin brother's room. He needed to get Chris, then figure out where the hell Lukas and Cass were, then snag Will from wherever he'd wandered off to. Mom and Grandpa Marshall had come up to join Dad in that top-floor meeting room, and Josh guessed they intended to have dinner privately.

Still thinking about all the things he had coming up today and more tomorrow, Josh swiped the card-key for Chris' room and walked in without thinking.

A skinny but lean boy with neatly-combed blond hair and Chris were sitting together on the sofa, in the middle of making out. Their shirts lay on the floor. Vaguely, Josh recognized the blond boy as Danny Burkes, a member of the Xavier Prep Cross Country team and a damn good long-distance runner. They'd talked a few times in the halls.

"OhmyGod!" Chris yelped, breaking away from Danny, and Josh had the sense to kick the door shut.

"What the hell is this?" Josh demanded. "What's going on here?"

"Oh, shit, oh, shit," Danny fretted, his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He grabbed hastily for his shirt, looking between Chris and Josh. "Uh- I should- I oughta go."

"No, you stay here," Josh said, steel coming into his voice. "Chris! What's going on, man?"

"This is- uh-" Chris sighed, looking more startled and bewildered than Josh had ever seen him. "Well-"

"Is this why you hadn't introduced your new girlfriend to anybody?" Josh asked quietly. "Is this why you were making a big secret out of it?"

"Yes," Chris answered. He wrung his hands, looking more distressed by the second. "Josh, I-I didn't- I don't- don't think I didn't trust you enough. I just… this… I've been trying to figure this out for a long time. I just got to talking with Danny one day after a Cross Country meet, and- and we, you know, we talked more. I was gonna tell you. I swear. I just wanted the break to come first."

"Oh, my God," Josh sighed, steadying himself against the door. "Are you serious? All those girls and you never- you were never-"

"It's not like that," Chris fussed. "I swear it isn't. How could I tell anybody? I didn't know! I was figuring it all out. I still am."

"You're _gay_?" Josh almost whispered.

"I think I am," Chris replied.

"But we're twins."

"I looked some stuff up… even with twins you can have this. I think. I mean, it happened, seems like it, you know?"

"I guess." Josh felt like he was about to fall over. Far too much had happened already today, and now this…

"I'm really sorry," Danny said. "Josh, we wanted to tell you. We just didn't know how to. And everyone's so- it's not really that open to gay kids at Xavier. Or at a lot of other schools. It's normal to make fun of us."

Josh knew that was true. He suddenly felt quite different about all the times he'd laughed and joked with his friends and classmates about "fags," how many times he'd called somebody else "gay" or insinuated they were to challenge the other boy's sense of masculinity, get him to take a dare.

"Yeah," Josh managed to say.

"Don't tell anyone," Chris blurted. "_Please_, man. This is confusing enough as it is."

"Okay. But you're gonna have to tell everybody else one of these days."

"I will. Just give me some time, all right?"

"Sure. Don't worry about it."

"Too late," Chris said, and they all managed to laugh.

"Chris, you didn't need to keep this from me," Josh said. "I wouldn't have said anything."

"I was going to, during the break. This just came up too soon."

"Danny, I- uh… I had no idea, man."

"That's how I want it to stay," Danny replied. "Maybe someday Xavier and high schools in general, maybe someday they'll be more open. They're not right now, though."

"Yeah. I get that."

"Let's talk about this more later," Chris pleaded. "I gotta ask- why'd you come in here, though? What's going on?"

"Dad and I talked."

"Looks like you're still alive."

"Yeah." Josh laughed. "It's gonna be okay. But I gotta borrow you car."

"My car?"

"Dad wants me to use the flashiest thing we got when I go apologize to Agent Gibbs and that Janssen kid."

"Oh." Chris hesitated. "Well, I'm going back to the dorms tomorrow. Gotta get back to being a Prefect and all. So, uh… you know, you can use the Bentley if you need to."

"After I'm done doing busywork over at Gibbs' place-"

"Busywork?"

"Yeah. Dad says Gibbs is probably gonna make me chop wood and stuff."

"In December?"

"Yep."

"That sucks."

"You can say that again."

"That sucks."

"Fuck _you_, smartass."

"Hey, you _said_-"

"Man," Josh laughed, "I hate you sometimes."

"Any chance we're going out to eat?" Chris asked curiously.

"Uh, yeah. That's actually the main thing I was down here for. Everybody's going out to Arby's."

"Oh, great. Can Danny come with us?"

"Well, Cassandra's gonna say we gotta bring Lukas, and I won't go without Missy. So, yeah." Josh paused, looking curiously at Danny Burkes. "So, when I saw Chris come out on the Lawn with some lipstick the other day…?"

"That was me," Danny confirmed. His cheeks tinged pink and he laughed sheepishly. "Yeah. Um, Chris and I were talking, and we figured we should each use some lipstick now and then when nobody can see. Then people think we're both dating girls."

"Clever."

"It was your brother's idea, man."

"I can't believe you seriously thought I'd care if you liked guys," Josh said, shaking his head at Chris with mock reproach. "I don't. You're my brother. That comes before anything."

"I knew you'd say that," Chris said defensively. "I knew you would. I just needed time, man. I've been figuring this out. You know. It's not that easy."

"Yeah. So… everything else is the same, right? Like, being friends with all the same people, and stuff?"

"Why not? They don't know. And it's staying that way until I figure it all out."

"Okay, man. I can work with that." Josh sighed. "So… you guys, you know, get dressed. And I'm gonna go get Melissa."

"Sure, man."

"See you in a few minutes."

"A few minutes?" Josh asked.

"Yeah," Chris replied with a grin. "You and Missy are gonna at least be a couple minutes."

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Chris was right, as he so often was. Talking to Melissa required calming her down, assuring her everything was okay after a long and difficult day. Josh knew he was supposed to get everyone going without taking too long, but Missy was worried about her sister, worried about him, and it wasn't as if people had hurried to let her know what was going on today.

They ended up being more than a few minutes. Melissa wanted what she wanted sometimes, and Josh, as always, did his best to keep her happy. They were both much calmer after a while, and weary as he was after such a difficult day, Josh almost passed out while lying on his back among the soft sheets. The mattress was like resting on a cloud with two more clouds under it.

"Josh," Melissa said, shaking his right shoulder. "Josh! Your phone's going off."

"Whuzat?" Josh asked, opening his eyes.

"Josh, Lukas is calling you."

"Kay." Josh clumsily took his phone as Missy handed it to him. "Sup?"

"Josh, you need to come over to Xavier. Cass won't get off the track." Lukas was pronouncing his words, each and every one, very carefully.

"Why? What's goin' on?"

"She's hardly said anything all day. Now Will and Brittany are out here and Cassandra won't quit running."

"What?" Josh asked, confused. "Um, okay, okay. I'll be right over."

"Okay," Lukas said. He paused. "Please hurry. Maybe it will help if all of you are here."

"This must be because Dad yelled at her," Josh thought aloud.

"Yes. I sink so also."

"Okay, just- just keep everyone together until I get there."

Josh hung up and groped around, trying to figure out where all his clothes were. His boxers were lying in one spot on the floor, his pants in a corner…

"I have your t-shirt here," Melissa said. She looked so beautiful in the light of that lamp she'd just turned on. Josh wanted to just stay here and savor this, being with her, inside instead of out there in the biting cold. But she knew what he had to do in a moment like this.

"Thanks," Josh said gratefully, catching it as she tossed it to him.

He threw on a winter jacket he'd left in here a day or two ago, zipped it up and pulled out the replacement key to Chris' car. Just as he'd been leaving, Dad had suggested he check under the door to his room. Sure enough, after he'd talked to Chris, Josh had found a brand-new Bentley key slid under the door. Looking out his room's window on a hunch, Josh had seen Chris' Azure out there. Mr. Henderson had probably taken care of it.

After quickly getting dressed, Josh and Melissa found Chris and Danny waiting near the balcony, seated in a couple of armchairs close to their room. Josh explained what he knew, and together the four teens made their way downstairs and outside.

It was cold out there, bitterly cold, but Josh tried not to focus on it. He kept his mind on what he needed to do. And once ensconced in the quiet, sturdy luxury of the Bentley, the cold wasn't so bad, anyway. The motor started at once, and powerful as it was, it didn't need long to start heating the spacious interior.

Josh put the Azure in drive and got going, headed back toward Xavier, wondering what on Earth was going on with Cassandra. She may have been brusque and even arrogant, but she was also brave, daring, gifted with incredible reflexes and nerves made of steel. Josh hardly ever saw or heard of anything rattling her, or even coming close.

Evidently something had this time. Josh just hoped it would help in some way if the whole gang was there. Cassandra may not have liked to admit to it, but everyone knew how much she loved her family.

**ΩΩΩΩΩ**

Out at the 400-meter track, Will was stretching when Josh, Chris, Melissa and a track runner from Xavier named Danny Burkes showed up. The 12-year-old was dressed in soccer shorts and a Nike t-shirt, summer running clothes. Perfect for a long run out here, even if he felt the cold right now. Will had gone and changed after a few fruitless attempts to flag Cassandra down. She'd been out here on the monkey bars, the pull-up bars, but most of all on the track, for over an hour. It seemed like she was trying to exhaust herself.

Every time anyone tried to call out to her, Cassandra just seemed to pick up speed until she'd gotten away from them. Will knew something was going on in her head. Something was bothering her. She just didn't want to talk about it. Or rather, she couldn't let herself talk about it.

"Maybe we should just let her stay out here," Brittany said uncertainly. "Maybe she wants us to just leave her alone."

"We can't leave her out here," Josh said firmly.

"Well, so, what do we do?"

"I'll talk to her," Will said.

"We've already tried that," Chris answered him.

"Leave it to me."

As Cassandra passed by again, starting yet another lap, Will casually started running as well. A quick glance was all he needed to gauge her running pace, and Will immediately matched it. Cassandra didn't take long to notice, alert as she always was; she glanced behind her, looking briefly surprised, then scowled and went faster.

This went on for one lap, then two, then three, with Will working to catch up and Cassandra working to get away. In the end she was flying down the track at a 5-minute-mile pace, sweating like it was the middle of July, and yet Will was there, closing in on her heels, refusing to let his sister run away from herself.

Finally Cassandra tripped as one of her shoes hit the cold recycled rubber of the track. She stumbled, then caught herself on her palms. She tried immediately to rise and continue running but her thighs spasmed and she hit the track, making desperate, strained noises.

"Go away," she said to him. It was the first time she'd spoken to anybody out here tonight.

"I'm not going away."

"Leave. Fuck off."

"Nope."

Cassandra tried to huff, ended up gasping instead. She tried to stand up again, almost made it, then collapsed and landed on her stomach again. As Will moved closer, she started crawling, using just her arms to drag herself around to complete her latest lap. She gazed down the track as if it were her only purpose in life, the only thing that existed in the world right now, and grimly pulled herself along.

"Cass. Cass, I wanna talk to you."

She made a grunting noise and kept going.

Will meant to ask her to hold on, listen to him a minute, but instead what came out was, "I don't wanna be a Marine, Cass. I wanna join the Navy. I'm gonna be in the submarines."

His big sister kept crawling forward as if she hadn't heard him.

Will ran up suddenly and eagerly tapped her on one shoulder, then the other. "You hear me, Cass? I'm gonna be in the submarines! I wanna join the Navy!"

Cassandra looked at him then, looking bewildered, confused. She got up, staggered forward, then lurched off the track and fell to all fours. Will caught up to her just as she threw up.

"I'm sick, Professor," Cassandra croaked. She gagged, coughed.

"Yeah, no shit," Will said with a laugh. "Hey, hey Cass. Hey. You know what? You know something?" He giggled now, feeling happier than he had in a long while, liberated, even, now that he'd shared his most guarded secret with her.

Visibly confused, thrown off by his tone, Cassandra forced herself to stand. Breathing hard, looking desperately tired, she slowly got back onto the track and began walking forward again.

"Cass," Will said, hurrying up and jumping up to tap her on both shoulders again, one after the other. "Cass. Cassie, hey, hey! You wanna know something else? You wanna know the truth?"

She kept plodding forward until Will got in front of her, dancing around, giggling excitedly. Then she turned around and started going the other way. She kept changing direction, occasionally glancing at him in confusion.

"Cass, I love you."

Intimidated as he had always been by his big sister, by her stern and often abrasive demeanor, that total obsession she had with emulating Dad's Marine warrior spirit, Will had never said it before. He'd studied and taken exams and excelled in his world at so young an age, but he'd never managed to say it before. Not once in all his life.

Cassandra looked at him as if he'd just dropped in from Mars. She turned away again as if she hadn't heard him.

"I love you, Cass." Will danced in front of her again, tapped her on both shoulders again. "I love you."

Then Josh was there, then Chris, then Brittany. Then Lukas. All of them circling her, reaching out to her, saying the same words again and again, "I love you." Cassandra kept trying to act like she couldn't hear them, kept trying to turn away, but it didn't work. They blocked her off and she had nowhere to go.

Will ran in then, just ran right up to her and hugged her. "I love you, Cass. I love you."

Josh, Chris, Brittany and Lukas all did the same. Then Melissa was there, embracing her best friend. Will looked up and saw Cassandra shaking her head, blinking, trying not to look at them, but he saw a smile crack that stern expression. Finally she just gave up and sat down, and as they all embraced her, Will saw the smile again. She was upset, confused, but she loved them, and it showed as they each hugged her.

"Wanna go get something to eat?" Josh asked.

"Whatever it is, let's talk about it," Chris said.

Tears were running down Cassandra's cheeks. Finally, she nodded. "Okay."

* * *

**A/N: 8-30-2020.**

**So over a month later, here we are, finally, with Chapter 10! I started the actual chapter over a week ago, but it took an additional week to set aside the time and really get the ideas going. This took much longer than it was supposed to, but I'm at least about up to speed with "Adjustments" again. I'll be working with Jenny wrens to get some of our remaining ideas to paper in each of our stories before they both conclude.**

**The scene with Josh Marshall, Jr. and his father is based off the final meeting between Lincoln Clay and Sal Marcano in the 2016 video game "Mafia III," although of course the circumstances are considerably different. I liked the gravity and mutual respect shown in that scene in the game and used it as an inspiration for that part of this chapter.**

**Pat Conroy's 1976 novel "The Great Santini" inspired Will Marshall's scene here at the end of the chapter. Cassandra has been greatly upset and confused by her father- her absolute role model and the one person she respects and admires most- telling her he is angry and disappointed with her. It isn't that she doesn't understand she acted rashly, but rather that being rebuked so directly by her father is a difficult thing to grapple with. Like Wilbur "Bull" Meecham, she is a warrior without a war to fight, and she often ends up at war with her fellow students at Xavier and even with herself.**

**All feedback is welcome as always.**


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